Leave Out All the Rest
by Anna Fugazzi
Summary: Nobody expected the year after Fred's death would be easy. But nobody expected George would have to lose so much, just to live through it.
1. Hogwarts

**Pairing(s):** George/Luna, hints of George/Angelina and George/Hermione, but mostly Gen.

**Summary:** Nobody expected the year after Fred's death would be easy. But nobody expected George would have to lose so much, just to live through it.  
Or: George is doing his best to make his way after the war and Fred's death. Everyone is trying to help, and he wishes they would just stop. Especially Fred.

**Warnings:** Angst, suicide issues, and occasional inappropriate humour.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to twistedm, tree00faery, vanseedee for beta waay above and beyond the call of friendship.

**Prologue**

_"I'm with Percy!" Fred called back at George as he hurried after their older brother._

__

"I'm coming with you," George said, running up behind them.

"No! Stay with Lee," Fred said. "Guard the corridor in case-"

"You guard the corridor!"

"Come on, Percy's just come off a desk job, he needs back-up-"

"Don't do this again, you arse," George said angrily. "I can fight as well as you can whether I'm missing an ear or not! Don't make another stupid excuse to go to the more dangerous-"

"Think I'm leaving you where it's safe? Did you see those bloody giants trying to get through?"

"Bollocks!"

There was a shout and a crashing sound from around the corner. "Bloody hell, Percy's going to get himself killed and Mum'll never forgive me," Fred muttered and they both started to run towards him, then stopped at the sound of Lee's voice.

"Erm, a little help here!" Lee was saying nervously, and Fred took the opportunity to shove George in Lee's direction and bolt off after Percy.

_George growled in annoyance and sprinted back towards Lee. _

**May**

"Bloody _hell_, Lee!" George forced out through gritted teeth. "Watch what you're doing!"

"Doing my best here, mate," Lee snapped, holding his wand steady and squinting at George's arm as if it offended him. "If you'd rather wait for Madame Pomfrey-"

"No, she's got enough to do. Just patch it up without murdering me, all right? I swear it feels like you're Splinching my arm."

"Not trying to." Lee winced in sympathy as George hissed in pain, and he put on one last burst of effort that wrung a cry from George's throat. "Right. That's done it. I won't envy you the scar, but at least it won't fall off in the next few hours."

"That's all I need. Just need to use it right now; who cares if it looks like shite or drops off tomorrow."

"Don't say that, mate, Fred'll kill you if you lose any more body parts. Kill me too, for that matter."

George sniggered. "He's pissed enough as it is, us not looking the same. I told him if it's that big a problem, he could just try to lose an ear himself. Said he would, but he couldn't decide whether he should lose the same one, so we'll look the same to everyone else, or the opposite, so we're still mirror images."

Lee laughed and rubbed his eyes.

"Speaking of which, where the hell is he?" said George.

"Dunno. He went off with Percy, didn't he?"

George nodded, wiping sweat off his forehead. "Yeah. Percy. Bloody hell, Mum was glad to see him. The git."

"Weren't you?"

"Well, yeah. It's good to have him back, and Mum's been so upset about him, the ungrateful prat. Better late than never, I suppose. I dunno what Mum would've done if he'd never come back. She's like a mother hen, always counting us. First time in years she's had all her chicks in one place, except for Charlie."

"Didn't look too pleased that we brought Ginny."

"No." George pressed his lips together. "I'm not either, to be honest. Only I was more afraid to leave her behind; she'd have killed the lot of us when we got back."

"She's underage," Lee pointed out.

"So were all of them when they fought at the Ministry," George said grimly.

Lee nodded.

"Bloody hell, where's Fred," George muttered, his eyes roving restlessly over the crowd in the Great Hall. "Goes all mental on me after I lose my ear, worse than Mum even, but now that we're in an actual battle, he can't be arsed to check in."

"You worried? About that whatever-it-was you felt earlier?"

George shook his head. "Not really, it was just a twinge. I'm sure he felt it when I got this," he nodded at his arm. He glanced around the Great Hall nervously. "Still..."

"You told me, though," Lee pointed out, "that it's not that accurate, whatever the connection is. He's probably fine."

"Yeah."

"Maybe he's working at that wall that blew in."

"Only takes a moment to send sparks. Speaking of which," George took out his wand and fired a perfunctory trail of sparks in the air. "There, now at least he can't blame me for leaving him in the dark."

Lee smirked. "You're no better than he is, you know. You all worry about each other."

"He's been a real pain about it, though. Ever since the ear thing."

"Come on, mate, he's just looking out for you. And believe me, what you're seeing is only the tip of the iceberg. You didn't see him that weekend."

"I saw him afterward," George sniggered. "I still haven't paid you back for letting him get that drunk, by the way. Git forgot our security wards on the flat were making cleaning charms go funny. I am _never_ cleaning up puke by hand again."

Lee laughed and shook his head. "He was a mess before he got drunk; the drink just helped calm him down. He was bloody terrified, mate."

George rolled his eyes. "What, did he think all this talk of resistance and fighting was going to end with nobody getting hurt?"

"No, he knew it might happen. I think he just didn't expect it to happen to you, or so soon. He was..." Lee trailed off, shaking his head. Fred Weasley scared out of his wits and unable to deal with it was a sight he hoped never to see again.

George smirked. "You know, that's one of the things we've always appreciated about you, Lee. Your discretion and your ability to keep private whatever one of us tells you."

Lee snorted. "Right. As if either of you ever kept any of my confidences to you private."

George laughed too, and rubbed the side of his head.

"How's the arm?" Lee asked.

"Feels all right. Hey, do I look any better?"

"Well you're not really my type, but you'll do. You're still grey but I think that's just stone dust. Can you stand up?"

"Think so. I was thinking we should go help, especially at that wall. Who knows what happened there. We've only got..." he checked his watch, "forty-five minutes? Til they start up again?"

"That's assuming You-Know-Who keeps his word."

"Fair enough," George said, glancing around again. "Where the hell is he... you saw Bill and Dad, and I'm pretty sure I heard Mum and Fleur, and Ginny's hopefully still at the Room of Requirement, but Fred and Percy and Ron and Harry and Hermione..." He squinted as a figure approached them through the crowd, then smiled in relief. "Percy!"

Lee looked up and felt his mouth drop open as he took in Percy's tear-stained face, his ashen features and helpless look of dread and sorrow. He glanced back at George and saw the smile of recognition fade and his eyes widen, face going pale. Percy stared at him, hand covering his mouth, trying to hold back his sobs long enough to speak, but he couldn't. George's wand dropped from his hand unheeded as he stood up shakily.

"Who..." he whispered, and shook his head as Percy gulped and tried to speak, closing eyes now streaming with tears and reaching out to George blindly. George caught his arm and shook his head. "No. Not - no. No, God, no..." he whispered, and Percy nodded.

"Where?" Lee asked, his own voice coming out as a croak. "Is he just - is he hurt, or-"

"Dead," Percy choked out.

"Are you sure?" Lee asked, horrified. "Maybe he's just injured-"

"N-no," Percy shook his head, crying harder. "He's gone, he - was next to the wall, he-" he broke down again, his words unintelligible.

"Where-"

"Harry and I moved him," Percy choked out, taking George's arm and tugging him. "I didn't want - anything else - to happen to his-" he sobbed, tears tracking down his grimy face unheeded, and George shook his head, eyes huge and dark as he and Lee followed Percy silently.

"He's-" Percy was shaking, unable to say more than a few words at a time. "I - I couldn't - I tried - George, I couldn't - he, he was - he was right next to me - the wall burst apart, I couldn't hold - I tried-"

George patted Percy's shoulder absently, peering through the dust, coughing a bit.

"He's - is that-" Lee said, spotting a shape in a niche through the dust.

Percy nodded, and George slowly approached the small niche, shaking his head slightly, and Lee realized he was silently mouthing something.

"No, no, no..."

Lee swallowed hard as they approached the nook, and his stomach gave a sickening lurch.

Oh God, Fred.

Fred was lying on his back, covered in dust, eyes sightlessly staring at the ceiling, mouth in a slight smile. The cause of death wasn't immediately apparent, but Lee guessed it had something to do with the copious amount of blood pooled beneath him. George was sinking to his knees, staring at Fred's body, still whispering, "No, no, God, no..." but his eyes were taking in what they were seeing and he reached out tentatively, touched Fred's face. He pulled back quickly, swallowing hard.

"Oh God. He's cold," he whispered, putting his hand back on Fred's cheek, brushing his hair off his forehead.

Lee sank down beside him, his throat tightening and his vision getting blurred. Percy was still shaking, arms wrapped around himself, and Lee looked up. "Does anybody else know yet?"

Percy nodded, wiping a hand across his face and only succeeding in smudging the dust and tears. "Ron. He was there too." He gulped. "Harry and Hermione, too. They were all right, we separated when the wall blew; Harry helped - helped me bring Fred here."

George nodded, staring into Fred's open eyes as though trying to will life back into them.

"That's one of the Weasley twins," Lee heard from a passing student.

"Oh Merlin, that's the other twin-"

"We have to find the rest of your family," Lee said. "They can't hear about this from somebody else."

Percy nodded and Lee touched George's shoulder. "D'you want me to stay here, or find your family?"

George didn't move or indicate that he'd heard Lee at all. Percy turned to go and Lee got up, shaking his head. Percy had done enough.

"Wait with him. I'll find the rest of your family," Lee said numbly and gave Fred one last look before heading back to the Great Hall.

Fred. Fred Weasley, who had been joking and eager to fight not long ago at all, was now lying still and pale and would never fight again. Lee couldn't take it in. It didn't make any sense; Fred was one of the most alive people he had ever met, Fred and George were a force of nature, unstoppable, unbeatable, and yet now somehow one of them was lying motionless on the floor and the other sitting mute and blank beside him.

Lee's head was spinning as he stumbled along, seeing others carrying bodies, some still feebly moving, most limp, and he stopped short at the entrance to the Great Hall as he watched Mrs. Weasley cry out and grab Fleur into a tight hug, and Mr. Weasley heaving a sigh of relief.

"Thank God - Bill!" Mrs. Weasley called out. "Fleur's here, she's all right!" She let go of Fleur and glanced over her, as Bill rushed towards them. "You're not hurt?"

"Only a bit, somezing fell on me, eet ees all right," Fleur said, grabbing Bill with a cry of relief. "I was so worried!"

"I'm all right," said Bill. "I ran into Ginny - she's all right, Mum, she's looking for you - we haven't found Percy or the twins or Ron, have you seen them?"

"Mum!" Ginny called out from across the room, and hurried to her side.

"Ginny! You were supposed to be at the Room of Requirement!" Mrs. Weasley said, her face darkening.

"So eet ees only zose four still meessing?"

Lee gulped and approached the group. Fred's family looked at him, the evident relief in their faces quickly turning to pale anxiety as he struggled to find the words, and his heart felt like a stone in his chest. He opened his mouth and plunged ahead. "George is fine. So's Percy, and Ron and Harry and Hermione were all right as of a few minutes ago." He swallowed. "Fred - Fred was next to the wall when it blew, he's..." He choked, not able to actually say the words, and looked away as Mrs. Weasley gave a sob.

"Is he still..." Bill's voice broke.

Lee shook his head, his eyes prickling with tears. "George - George and Percy are with his - with him."

"Where?" Bill said hoarsely, clutching Fleur's hand. Lee turned to lead them to the corridor, stumbling over and around all the people milling about, snatches of conversation mingling with cries of pain as they wound their way silently through the crowd.

"Colin!" a young girl was calling. "Colin!"

"... too late, she got in their way, there was nothing we could-"

"She's with the Healers, Morag, she'll be all right-"

"... _that_ werewolf? Because he wasn't with the Death Eaters, you idiot!"

"Rookwood, the bastard, blasted him right out-"

"...and one of the Weasley twins too-"

Lee closed his ears and just concentrated on leading the Weasleys to George and Percy. And Fred.

**ooo000ooo**

_No no no no no no no no no no no_

__

Wake up wake up wake up wake up

_No no no no no no no no no no no_

It was funny, George thought vaguely, how his brain seemed to be stuck on that permanent litany. Like those Mimic Macintoshes he and Fred had made about a year ago; they were supposed to take the most annoying thing somebody said and repeat it until they were hit. And his brain seemed stuck on those two things. He supposed it was probably shock; supposed shock was normal at a time like this. He'd felt something like this when Sirius had died, when Dumbledore had died, this intense need to block the unpleasant and pretend, wish with all your heart, that the horrible was just a nightmare. He didn't know whether the Wake up wake up wake up was aimed at Fred or at himself.

Didn't matter. Neither would do any good. He tried to grasp his emotions, convince himself that this was real, but gave it up fairly quickly as a bad job. Reality would surely kick in soon enough; he was kneeling before the dead body of his twin, seeing him sprawled there pale and unmoving, listening to Percy's broken sobbing, and it was all bound to get through to him eventually. Right now, he should probably just feel grateful that he was obviously still in emotional denial.

_No no no no no no no no no no no_

__

Wake up wake up wake up wake up

_No no no no no no no no no no no_

Percy was crying so hard it felt like he would probably shake apart at some point soon, knees drawn up, head buried between them, racking sobs shaking all of him, and George put a hand on his arm. Felt a bit better than the hand he had on Fred's shoulder, which was growing colder by the second. He could feel it, actually feel it getting colder and colder, minute by slow slow minute.

_No no no no no no no no no no no_

__

Wake up wake up wake up wake up

_No no no no no no no no no no no_

A woman gave a small shriek and George looked up, barely registering it was his mother before she fell to her knees before them, taking Fred's hand in hers, a wild, desperate look on her face, staring into Fred's sightless eyes.

"Fred..." Mum leaned over him, and George swallowed hard. "His eyes are still open," she said, and George reached out and gently closed them, his mind distantly telling him he would never see Fred's eyes again.

"We should move him to the Great Hall," Bill said, his voice hoarse. George nodded and knelt behind Fred and lifted him by the underarms, shifting to support his neck as his head fell limply back. Ginny folded Fred's arms onto his chest and then she and Percy took his torso and legs, and they formed a slow procession back to the Great Hall, where they laid him down on the floor. Mrs. Weasley sank down and lay her head on his chest, her tears finally spilling over, while George knelt back at his head, blankly gazing at the floor in front of him as his mother wept.

_No no no no no no no no no no no_

__

Wake up wake up wake up wake up

_No no no no no no no no no no no_

And it was odd, how time was slowed down as he sat in silence. The calm in between the storms, thought George. People were still being brought into the Great Hall. Between one slow heartbeat and the next, Remus and Tonks were lain down a few corpses down from Fred.

Teddy Lupin was now an orphan. Just like Harry.

Lee was back. George didn't know when that had happened, and then Ron and Hermione were suddenly there, but not Harry. None of it mattered much. What did matter was that Fred's skin grew colder by the moment, and George felt dizzy. Must be the ear; it still twinged him once in a while.

People were still moving about, and Ron was sobbing tiredly in Hermione's arms, and then Ginny pushed her hair back from her face and got up.

"Where are you going?" asked Dad, his voice so small.

"There are still people who need help in the castle," Ginny said dully, and trudged away, and Mum and Dad didn't try to stop her. Poor Mum, her worst nightmare had come true. She didn't have the strength to try to prevent another one from happening.

And then others were leaving, trying to find more survivors, and it was just him and Mum and Percy left with Fred's body, all of them just too dead themselves to be able to cope with seeing any more death. Or to even think of moving, ever again.

They'd have to move some time, though. It might feel like time had stopped, but soon enough they'd all have to face its relentless forward march.

"You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity," Voldemort had said. "Treat your injured." And then of course he'd kept going, babbling dire threats at Harry, because Voldemort liked nothing more than the sound of his own voice.

"Lord Voldemort is merciful?" Lee had said, and George had started as Lee used the name before realizing that, really, triggering the Taboo wasn't exactly their biggest worry right now. "Merciful would be if he shut up for once."

George had laughed, then, despite his own injury, even though Fred was dead. It had only been about ten minutes later that Percy had come to them...

He glanced around. There were fewer people sitting around next to unmoving forms, but others were still stumbling in or being carried into the Great Hall.

Injured. There might still be people out there who were injured, not...

George glanced down at Fred's still form. There was nothing to be done for him, and Merlin knew if Fred could speak he'd tell George to concentrate on the living right now, while there was time. George stood, and it seemed Mum and Percy had come to the same conclusion because they stood as well, and left the Great Hall with him, in search of fallen fighters.

George stepped aside as a girl from the DA - Lavender? Ron's ex? - was carried past them. Alive, but horrifyingly wounded, and George wondered if she'd like her meat very rare from now on like Bill did, assuming she survived. A Death Eater lay crushed under a crystal ball. And another. And another. And there was Professor Trelawney, blindly stumbling towards the Great Hall, her enormous glasses shattered. George stopped to help her make her way to the Great Hall, then went back out again, searching for movement, sound, a flash of colour where none should be, blood, signs of hexes...

Sound kept coming and going, and the disorientation was intense. His ear, again, no doubt. Ever since the injury he often felt unbalanced at the oddest times, as though sound was playing tricks on him.

He stepped aside as Oliver Wood carried little Colin Creevey past him. Wasn't he in Ginny's year, underage and a Muggle-born to boot? Bloody annoying little hero. Arithmancy Professor Vector, barely moving, was being carried past by McGonagall and Filch. He suddenly wondered if Professor Flitwick had survived; last George had seen him he'd been fighting a huge Death Eater named Yaxley, but later he'd seen Yaxley sprinting past sans Flitwick...

There: a glint of purple, another body. This one, a tall Ravenclaw if memory served, was merely stunned. George levitated her and brought her to the Great Hall, to Pomfrey and her assistants. So many wounded, so many unmoving on the floor. Voldemort was outside with his army, and there were so many of them...

They were going to lose. This battle, definitely, and possibly the entire war. Tonight.

Another Death Eater, lying in a pool of weirdly crystallized blood and good riddance. And Draco Malfoy, the little snot, cowering in a corner, his wand on the floor, staring down at another dead man with a mask hanging off his face. George passed him by without a second glance.

Well, if Yaxley was still alive and Flitwick wasn't, and if George could possibly manage it, he'd take him down, for the sake of the brilliant Charms professor who'd taught him and Fred so much. Who had refused to get rid of their swamp after they left school, forcing Filch to ferry students across it, and who had kept a corner of it, even after Umbridge was gone, declaring the swamp a brilliant piece of magic. If there was an afterlife, Fred would probably now be thanking Flitwick for all he'd taught them, and apologizing for all the trouble they'd caused him.

Soon enough, George might be joining them. That might be nice.

And if there was no afterlife, that might be all right too. At least this scattered-thought, off-balance, empty feeling would end. He and Fred would go down together, the way they were supposed to. Fred had come into this world a few minutes before George; it was only fitting that he'd leave it a few minutes earlier too.

It couldn't have been an hour since the fighting stopped already. Could it?

It could, apparently. The survivors were being called down to the Great Hall. George picked up his wand from where he'd dropped it, and joined his family at Fred's side once more.

"You haven't seen him, have you?" Ron was murmuring to Hermione. Hermione shook her head and they shared a look of equal parts fear and exasperation.

"He wouldn't have gone, would he?" she said. "Just because... he wouldn't take Voldemort at his word, would he?"

Ah, they were talking about Harry. "He would, if he thought there was no other choice," said Ron. He wiped at his face, the dirt and blood and tears making him look about a million years old and filthy beyond belief.

They were all filthy. And old. And nearly beaten. And if Harry had gone to-

"Harry Potter is dead," said a cold voice from outside, making them all jump. "He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him."

The voice continued and George didn't bother listening, as he gave a glance down at the still, cold thing that had been his twin.

Fred, I think we'll all be joining you very soon.

_Not yet_, said a voice that wasn't quite his own, almost clear enough to hear, and George didn't care that it couldn't possibly be Fred. A hallucination was better than silence. _It's not over until the Fat Lady sings. And I think she and Violet got piss-drunk somewhere in the third floor, so you've got time_.

Not much.

_So go down fighting_, Fred's voice said grimly. _Every miserable arse you take down is one less that'll torture and kill Muggles and Muggle-borns for the fun of it. Take down as many as you can before they get you._

George stood up, following the others out of the Great Hall as they filed out to meet the end.

They'd talked about this, of dying in this war. Somehow they'd thought of dying together in the middle of a fight, or dying so that others could live free. They hadn't really thought of not dying at the same time. Or dying as their cause died with them.

Then they were all outside, facing a crowd of jeering Death Eaters, and it was true: Harry was dead, and it was almost over, but it didn't seem to matter much. Harry was dead, and Voldemort was babbling, and Neville Longbottom was going to get himself killed, and none of it touched the bubble around George - and then with sickening suddenness the battle was on again and chaos reigned and there were giants and a snake and and and, and it didn't matter what was happening around George, because he wasn't really there. He fired off curse after curse and barely missed curse after curse thrown at him, but it didn't matter because when you didn't give a rat's arse about protecting yourself, when you were already dead, you could be so much more effective, like you had an extra surge of magic or something - and Yaxley went down to him and Lee, and George was dropping Death Eaters one by one, and they were still going lose in the end, they all knew that, but better off dead than serving Voldemort now anyway.

Dimly he sensed that their side's numbers had swelled in the last few moments, with centaurs and hippogriffs and skeletal flying horses, and some professor in pyjamas was firing off amazing curses - and was that Charlie's voice? - but it was all a jumble of noise and fire and hatred, and-

"NOT MY DAUGHTER YOU BITCH!"

George whipped around, his mother's shriek breaking through the wall of numbness around him. His mouth fell open as his mother, _Mum_, who knitted sweaters and made treacle tart and who only minutes ago had been sobbing and heartbroken over Fred's body, duelled with fury and fire and he had never been so proud to be her son.

But _fuck_, Bellatrix was evil, and insane, and powerful, and Mum was going to be killed right in front of him, and there had to be a way to hit Bellatrix and not Mum, and he turned to say Fred, can't we-

Right. Fred wasn't here.

_No, I'm here, but bloody hell, what can we-_

George watched in frozen admiration and fear as his mum gave back as good as she got, and Bellatrix taunted her and knew she was only seconds away from killing her, because motherly protective instincts aside, a middle-aged grieving mother of seven was no match for-

And then it was over. And Mum... _Mum_ had killed Bellatrix Lestrange.

Fred, I can't believe-

_I can't believe it either-_

Then Voldemort's scream of rage rang out and he raised his wand to hex Mum, and George knew every single Weasley in the room had raised their wand at the same time to defend her, he swore he could feel even Fred's magic with them, even as he knew it was too late-

_"Protego!"_

Harry.

And it was all a blur, incomprehensible. Harry couldn't be there, alive and fighting, and yet he was. He had just _seen_ Harry, seen him as dead as Fred, as dead as Remus and Tonks and Professor Vector, and yet there he was. And George didn't give a toss as to what they were talking about, wands and Snape and all sorts of things, it didn't matter, the border between dead and alive was blurring and they would all be on the other side of it soon anyway, but it was all taking an interminably long, long time...

And then it was over.

Over.

Voldemort, lying there, like a broken doll.

Victory.

A space full of nothing.

A roar of joy. Relief. He felt himself caught in it, Lee pulling him towards the others, Fred there with them too, and then amidst the hugs and the cheers he and Lee suddenly stopped and stared at each other, then recited the spells they'd feared they might never be able to say. And the fireworks the three of them had hidden on school grounds a long, long time ago, just in case the final battle was held here, burst into spectacular celebration against the rising sun.

And that was that.

It was over. It was done.

We did it, Fred, he whispered. There was no reply.

_**ooo000ooo**_

_"A wizard's family stays by his side for one full day after he dies, to make sure his spirit doesn't wander," Mum said to Fred and George when Uncle Bilius died, and Dad had to leave._

__

"Can't we go stay with Dad, Mum?" asked Fred.

"No, Freddie," said Mum. "Dad's got to do this without us."

"But we loved Uncle Bilius too. Remember he used to make flowers come out of his-"

"Boys, I know you loved him, too. But he was Dad's eldest brother. His brothers are all going to stay with him, and it's going to be boring."

"Uncle Bilius wasn't boring," Fred protested. "He'd want us to tell jokes."

"He probably would," said Mum, and Fred and George exchanged a grin at her dry tone. Uncle Bilius hadn't exactly told the sorts of jokes Mum liked.

"There will probably be a lot of jokes at his funeral," said Mum. "Not at the vigil, though. Now, we are going to make something to feed everyone there. And no funny stuff in it!"

"Is Dad going to be very sad?" asked Percy softly.

Mum thought for a moment. "Yes, probably, but remember Uncle Bilius was a lot older than Dad, and he's been sick a long time. You know we all thought he'd go four years ago, when Ronnie was born. Uncle Bilius led a good, long life." She picked up Ginny from her high chair and ruffled Percy's hair. "Everyone dies some time; we all hope we can go in our old age, with people we love by our side. Uncle Bilius had that."

"We're never going to die," said Fred, and George nodded firmly. "We're going to live to be a hundred years old!"

"A hundred isn't so old," said Mum, amused. "Many wizards live far past that."

Bill and Charlie laughed at Fred's indignant expression.

_"We'll be two hundred, then!" said George to Fred. He peered up at Mum. "That's pretty old, isn't it? Are you two hundred years old?"_

**ooo000ooo**

It still didn't feel real. Even two days later, it didn't feel real.

George raised his wand and cast a lightening spell on the heavy stone before him, raising it slightly off the ground. He put his shoulder to the stone, and he and Lee carefully stood, straining with the effort.

You could live without your heart, he had found. You could keep placing one foot in front of the other and working and fixing things and cleaning, and if you did all of that from the moment you woke up to the moment you collapsed, exhausted, onto a cot in the Great Hall, it was remarkable how well you could pretend to still be alive.

"George, there you are," said Hermione, coming around the corner of the half-rebuilt wall.

He half-turned in her direction, carefully maintaining the spell as he and Lee heaved the stone up the moving staircase they'd nudged closer to the spot where the stone was supposed to go. Merlin, even with lightening spells, there was no way to make these bloody things any easier to manipulate. Though at least they didn't have to do this while standing on rickety ladders like Muggles did.

"George?"

He grunted in acknowledgement, and pressed his lips together with effort as Lee took one hand from under the stone and pointed his wand at the top of the wall.

"Your mother-"

"Hang on, Hermione," Lee grunted, waving his wand to make sure the area they were going to deposit the new stone on was relatively free of dust. He gave it another glance, then took the weight from George and nodded at Hermione.

"Your mum would like you to come home, George," she said, and George shook his head impatiently. She sighed. "I know, I know, there's too much work left to do here. But she needs to speak to you. Could she come see you here?"

George shrugged, looking at the trowel and mortar on top of the wall, then looked at Lee to make sure Lee was ready to take the greater weight of the stone.

"Not quite," said Lee tightly. "Give me a minute." He took a deep breath, then nodded. "All right. Go ahead."

George eased a hand out from under the stone, and smoothed the mortar with the trowel left on top of the wall.

Hermione cleared her throat. "She's finished planning. The funeral is tomorrow, you know." Lee's control of the stone slipped slightly. George dropped the trowel and propped it up. He nodded at Hermione, who stepped back, unsure.

"Got it?" asked Lee.

George nodded, breathless. They slowly brought the stone towards the mortar, setting it down.

"Not quite on," said Lee. "Nudge it a bit."

There it was, settling in. Perfect.

George lifted himself off the staircase and straddled the wall, reaching out for the trowel to wipe any mortar that had seeped through the joining areas. Lee joined him, wiping from the other side, overextended and cursed as he slipped off. Hermione uttered a small squeak as he looked about ready to plunge to his death, before the safety spell kicked in and he bounced harmlessly to the floor.

"'M all right," he muttered, not that George had been worried. They'd all fallen off the rising walls too many times for it to be worth even a twinge, except for the person who fell.

Hermione gave Lee a hand up as George finished wiping the mortar from Lee's side of the wall as well.

"Can't you get him to come home?" Hermione asked Lee, her voice low, and it was odd how people were starting to speak about them now. Him. About _him_, not _them_.

"He's all right here," said Lee.

"But... look, I know I don't know much about wizarding customs, but I don't think him staying here is good," said Hermione earnestly. "The vigils are done. Everyone's going back to their lives, or back to their families. George staying here isn't healthy." She paused. "Him not talking isn't healthy either."

"What do you want him to say?" said Lee. "Besides, he does talk."

"Not more than one word at a time."

"A lot of people are staying here," said Lee. "There's a lot of work to be done. What would he do back at The Burrow?"

"Be with his family."

"He sat vigil with them here for an entire day."

"But..."

"Look, if this is what he needs to do, we should just let him do it."

Hermione blew out her breath in frustration. "Fine," she sighed, and left.

"George?"

George came down the staircase and turned to the next stone.

Lee cleared his throat. "George?"

George looked at him.

"I... I don't mean to go Hermione on you, mate, but... she may have a point. Have you stopped, at all, since the Battle?"

George gave him an impatient look and went back to the stone, gesturing to Lee to take up the other side.

Lee waved his wand to make the stone lighter, but didn't move to pick it up. "Only... I know that there's a lot of work here, but it's been three days, and..."

George moved the staircase over to the next spot on the wall, nudging it bit by bit so it wouldn't knock against the stone they'd just placed and send it tumbling back down.

"You look tired," continued Lee. "And... you're doing well, but... d'you think..."

George pressed his lips together, silently willing Lee to be a mate and shut up as he moved to pick up the next stone.

"Is there anything I can do?" said Lee. "I mean, d'you... need someone to talk to, or-"

"No, bloody hell," George finally snapped, and Lee's eyebrows shot up. George took a breath. "Sorry."

"I really don't want to push you, George," Lee said carefully. "Only... you're almost acting like nothing's changed."

"How am I supposed to act?" asked George.

Lee shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, mate. Nobody in my family's ever... been lost. Nobody I was close to, anyway. Only it seems you're acting like everything's fine."

George turned away, shrugged. "Maybe it just hasn't really hit yet," he said. "And I'm not in a hurry for it to do so."

"What are you-"

"I'm just pretending everything's all right and we're just working on different parts of the castle and don't tell me that's not healthy or useful because it's bloody useful right now. I'm not going to keep this up forever, just until things are a bit more settled around here. Now, can I please get back to trying to rebuild this wing of the library? There used to be some dead useful Transfiguration books over here. One of the only places in the library we actually went into voluntarily."

Lee blinked, and George reflected there was probably a reason for that; that was more than he'd said to anyone in days. He turned his back on Lee's worried expression and went back to the blessedly silent stone.

**ooo000ooo**

That was that, then. The funeral was over, the coffin had been lowered into the ground, and the pile of dirt was rising up overtop it. Within a year, his brother's grave would be indistinguishable from the hundreds of others at this graveyard, save that it would probably have fresher flowers.

The ceremony had been lovely. The man in black had said a lot of impressive stuff about Fred, Lee had made a bunch of jokes, and people had laughed through their tears - which George knew Fred would've appreciated, even if he couldn't handle telling any jokes himself, or even laughing, right now. And then all six of Fred's siblings had carried his coffin to the gravesite (Auntie Muriel never had a chance trying to keep Ginny from being one of the pallbearers) and all six of them had lowered him into his grave.

All six of them. They were an even number, now. No more middle child. Appropriate, as Fred had technically been the middle child. They'd even fallen into birth order at the very end: Bill, Charlie and Percy on one side of the coffin, George, Ron and Ginny on the other, Fred in the middle.

He'd never be among them again.

George made his way away from the gravesite and back to the seats that had been placed nearby for the funeral, unwilling to watch as the dirt piled up on top of his brother. He closed his eyes and vaguely felt Dad sitting down next to him, and he tried to turn his mind away from the graveside, away from his brother's final disappearance from the land of the living. Away from the ache beginning in his chest, a sense of despair so deep he didn't want to face it, sorrow so overwhelming he couldn't bear to let it touch him.

_It's all right, mate. Let it go._

God, that sounded like Fred again. Dead Fred, In My Head.

_Let it go. You've been wound up for three days._

George shook his head, trying to delay.

_It's like you've got a bad batch of U-No-Poo, mate. Don't be a bloody coward. You can't say you don't have time, not any more. You've done the vigil, my funeral's just been held, I'm very definitely gone. It's probably a bit past time to drop the denial act, before it stops being brave and tragic and starts being a bit of a joke._

He closed his eyes, biting his lip and feeling a scream inside him fighting to get out. A scream that said No, I don't want to, please don't make me-

_You're a Weasley. You've lived through Death Eaters and Dolores Umbridge and Mum on a tear. You can do this._

I can't. I don't want to.

_I know, mate._ And he'd never heard Fred sound as gentle, or as fucking sad, as Dead Fred in His Head sounded right now. _You don't have much of a choice, though. I'm in the ground now. I'm gone, and I'm not coming back._

He caught his breath, feeling himself start to shake, eyes clenched tight, a wail of sorrow building within him.

"George?" Dad's voice was soft by his side; Dad's hand was tentative on his shoulder.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"I'm sorry, George," Dad whispered, and the depth of grief in his voice tore at George, this was like dying, nothing had ever felt like this, he couldn't possibly take it-

Then Dad was pulling him into his arms and George was turning, burying his head in his father's shoulder, holding on desperately as if Dad was still able to make the pain of a skinned knee go away just by being strong, as he probably hadn't done since George was maybe five or six and he and Fred had got old enough to rely on each other instead of their parents.

The sobs were about to break free and he held on tighter, Dad make this stop make it stop make it better make it stop- "We knew... we knew if this happened, it would hurt," he gasped. "We just... we didn't realize how much-" and a strangled sob broke through and he let go, no words were possible now, and when had Dad become so frail, so bowed with sorrow himself?

God, he would never see Fred again. They would never again finish one another's sentences, they would never again invent a single thing, they would never reopen Wheezes together, he would never know what Fred thought of the new post-Voldemort world, he would never tease Fred into asking out Verity, or trying again with Angelina, they would never open a Hogsmeade branch together, they would never tease Mum or Ron or Ginny together, they would never tell their kids or nieces and nephews about the things they'd done together, they would never hope that one or both of them would end up having twins and watching it all start again - oh _God_ every pregnancy in their ridiculously fertile clan would fill him with dread, because twins popped up like weeds among both Weasleys and Prewetts, and how could he ever watch another pair grow up without aching for what he'd lost forever...

He couldn't stop this, he was shaking uncontrollably, worse than Percy, worse than Mum. He couldn't stop it and if he could've died at that moment it would've been a blessed relief, but nothing seemed to help. He couldn't stop, the memories and the grief and the wrenching sobs just kept going on and on and on...

"Georgie," Dad was saying, and he wanted to answer, but he was crying too hard, choking. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't stop, couldn't hold it back and everything _hurt_ so fucking much - not just emotionally but physically, his chest ached, and his stomach muscles were cramping from the heaving sobs-

And then Pomfrey was kneeling near them. "He can't stop," she told Dad. "Mr. Weasley," she murmured to George, "I'd like to cast a spell that will relax your muscles and put you to sleep. You need to rest now, let your body heal. You've been under stress for too long and you need to rest. Will you let me cast it?"

George nodded blindly. God, _anything_ to stop the hurt. He felt Pomfrey's hand, cool and soothing and uncharacteristically gentle on his forehead. She whispered a spell, and it felt as though the comfort of her touch seeped into his body, slowly quieting muscles that were shaking with grief.

"It'll take a few moments to work fully," she murmured, then sighed. "Of all the times you and your brother ended up in my office for silly things you'd done to each other, or sent other students to me with your pranks... I wish so much that this was a prank too." She stroked his forehead, now smoothing itself, and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. He felt his world grow dark and peaceful, and then he knew no more.

**ooo000ooo**

Work helped.

It really did help, Lee repeated to himself, as he and George half-carried Morag MacDougall to the hospital wing. Despite the fact that George still looked shaky and unsteady, and every time Lee closed his eyes he saw George being carried away from Fred's funeral cradled in Hagrid's arms like a child, which made the image of Fred being carried into the Great Hall slam into Lee like a blow to the solar plexus. Staying concentrated on work was much, much better. Staying too physically exhausted to concentrate on anything but pushing their bodies to keep moving.

"I'm all right," Morag said, a sudden gasp of pain immediately belying her irate words and tone.

"What happened?" asked Pomfrey, hurrying to them as they stumbled into the infirmary.

"Accident," said Lee, shaking his head at Pomfrey as she immediately tensed. "Nothing bad, don't worry, nobody was seriously hurt. Only Morag, and two others coming behind us-"

"I'm all right," Morag protested.

"You had a wall collapse on you," Lee pointed out, depositing Morag on a chair and stepping back to give Pomfrey room to treat her. "You're bleeding."

"I'm not Draco Malfoy, you know," Morag said snidely, wincing as Pomfrey murmured something and the shallow scrapes across her face started to knit themselves closed. "I can take a bit of blood without going spare."

"No doubt," Pomfrey said, "but lie down anyway. You too," she told Morag's rescuers, and nodded towards two of the beds. "Sit." She looked up as Neville Longbottom came in, limping and supporting an elderly witch with a long, steadily bleeding gash along one arm.

"I'm fine, I'm all right," George said. "Morag's the one who-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Pomfrey said brusquely. "And she's being seen to, isn't she? You two are covered in dust, who knows what you may have hurt without even notici-"

"I wasn't anywhere near the wall!" George protested. "I ran over because Morag looked like she was going to be buried in it!"

"And you probably did a fair bit of heavy lifting, getting her out of there," Pomfrey said, still squinting at Morag's face and indicating the other beds to Neville and the elderly witch. "And I'm sure there were things falling all over the place. You're all going on the rush of having survived the fall and getting Morag out, and if I know Gryffindors none of you will have noticed if you did something as minor as losing a hand or two in the process."

"Two hands, five fingers each, two arms, two legs, two feet," George rattled off. "Only one ear, but that's hardly the fault of the wall. Now can I go?"

"Just _sit_, for heaven's sake, and let me tend to the other patients." She turned to the elderly witch. "All right, Vesta, let's see this arm - Mr. Jordan, Mr. Longbotton, neither of you get to get out until then either. I'm setting you all to watch each other. Is that clear?"

They rolled their eyes and sat back as she concentrated on Vesta's arm gash.

"Bloody daft, this is," Lee huffed. "Nothing happened to us."

Neville shook his head. "You don't understand. Let her fuss. She had little enough chance to do that all last year."

George shuddered. He'd heard.

"What's happened here?" Rosmerta rushed into the infirmary, looking around wildly.

"What?"

"The WWN just interrupted their regular program, reported that there's been an explosion at Hogwarts! It's all over the news."

Lee groaned. "Oh bloody hell, whose bright idea was that? I've got to get a job out there, this is ridiculous. Oi, George, d'you want to join me in an emergency airing?"

Rosmerta blinked, her panic dying down as she glanced around the infirmary. "Not an explosion?" she said.

"No, for god's sake," Lee said wearily. "Just a wall that hadn't been propped properly. Nobody was even badly hurt. We've just got to be more careful with not relying solely on magic, that's all."

George chuckled tiredly as Lee swore again, and brushed his hair back from his forehead, settling back against the bed. "Down, intrepid spreader of truth. You'll get a chance to clear things soon enough, I'm sure."

Rosmerta sat down on the nearest bed, still a bit shaky. "It was horrible - the way the WWN reported it - there were parents showing up at the Hog's Head already, I think..."

George shook his head and sat back on the bed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, noting that he was completely covered in stone dust. Would be sneezing it out for days, no doubt - and suddenly George sat up, his stomach dropping out from under him.

"Oh. Oh fuck." He interrupted Madam Rosmerta, who was deep in conversation with Flitwick. "There were parents at the Hog's Head?"

Rosmerta frowned, glancing at him. "Yes, I think Professor McGonagall was going to let them in when it was safe to-"

"FUCK!" George scrambled off the bed. Oh, fuck. He glanced at the mirror in dismay. "Oh, fuck, Lee my parents cannot see me like this."

Lee looked puzzled for a moment, and then his eyes widened as they took in the greyish dust covering George, and the blood on his shirt. He blinked rapidly, mouth open in uncharacteristic speechlessness.

"God in heaven," Pomfrey whispered, and Rosmerta frowned at him, totally lost.

"God this'll give them nightmares forever, Lee, fuck, where's my bloody wand, I have to get cleaned up," George's heart was racing, and he'd never been so unbelievably sorry to be a twin in his life. He frantically tried to wipe away the dust, knowing it was futile. The stuff was everywhere and he looked exactly like Fred, fuck, _exactly_ like him, down to the dust and the blood and Lee was trying to help him but everybody else who'd seen Fred that day was gaping at him in horror, an Inferi Fred was what he was, risen from the dead-

And then it was too late, and Mum and Dad were rushing into the hospital wing and stopping in horror, gaping at him, Dad rushing forward after a hesitation and grabbing him tightly.

"Dad, I'm all right," he said, his voice shaking, unable to look away from his mother, who looked about ready to faint. "Please, Mum, I'm all right, nobody was hurt, it was just an accident, it's not what it sounded like on the wireless." He shrugged his father's shaking arm off and stepped closer to his mother, stopping in dismay as she flinched.

"Mum..." He softened his voice. He knew he sounded like shit, scared stiff that she was going to go mental on him, have nightmares forever, but he had to talk softly. "Mum, nobody got hurt. It's all right, everybody's all right. Morag was the only one near the wall. She's right over there, she's fine, all right? Nothing bad happened, just an accident, and nobody got badly hurt."

Mum was nodding slowly, her eyes glassy, and bloody hell, his vision was blurring. "Mum, don't look like that," he said softly. "We're all right-" fuck! Not _we_, not we any more, and she'd flinched at his bloody unfortunate choice of pronouns. "I-_I'm_ all right. All of us, all of us working at the castle today, we're all right. Nobody's being foolish. We're being really careful, Mum."

She was breathing, and blinking slowly, and god, she was trying to see him and not Fred. He smiled tentatively, let out his breath as she drew closer and put a hand on his sleeve. "It's all right, Mum," he said, and felt something warm on his cheek. Somewhere in there he'd apparently teared up a bit. Which was fine; with tear tracks down his face, he'd look even dirtier, but at least not like Fred. There had been no tears from Fred; he hadn't even had time to close his eyelids and keep the stone dust from settling onto his open eyes. Mum drew him closer and buried her head into his neck, shaking. "It's all right, Mum, it's all right," he whispered, closing his eyes as she held on to him so tightly he had trouble breathing.

Well, at least she wasn't crying. That was something, wasn't it?

"It's all right, nobody was seriously hurt," Pomfrey was saying, as the trickle of friends and family of the Hogwarts volunteers became a flood. Panic and confusion reigned as mothers and fathers and siblings milled about, all talking a mile a minute, and then a Wireless reporter appeared. Pomfrey shoved Lee at her, waving them both away from her patients.

Finally Mum was all right, sort of, and made her way to the hospital wing washroom to get herself under control. Somewhere in there somebody had produced a handkerchief, and George hastily wiped at his face, not particularly caring for the way Ginny and Harry and Percy had averted their eyes from his face after their first gaping panicked look upon entering the infirmary. Many of the onlookers started clearing off, the panic of the accident settling down. And George was very much wishing his own family would clear off too, because they were bloody well distracting him from his work as he and the other volunteers talked about what to do next, and what could be salvaged, and whether the entire wall that had partially collapsed needed to be brought down.

At least his family wasn't panicking any more. They weren't leaving, though. Just conversing in low voices, Dad talking softly to Mum, who cried a little now and again. George firmly turned his thoughts away from them. He had a job to do, and his own control over himself was far too tenuous to help them in any way.

It was getting a bit dark, much later, when Pomfrey finally cleared all of the volunteers to go back to work. Dad approached as George and Lee prepared to leave. "George, can I talk to you?"

George gave Lee a small wave of his hand, letting him know he could go on ahead. "Yeah?"

Dad cleared his throat. Looked away. Cleared it again. George felt a prickle of unease.

"George, please," said Dad. "Come home. Don't... don't stay here."

"I beg your pardon?" George said, his heart sinking.

"Please. Stop working on the building. We're all... we're all worried about you."

"We were being safe," he said, fighting down rising dread.

"I know, son, but you don't understand."

George swallowed. "I can't-"

"You don't understand!" Dad took a deep breath. "Your mother and I - hearing, on the radio, and then coming in and seeing you - how do you think it felt for her? For all of us? You don't understand-"

"You think I don't understand?" George interrupted, and now his dread was suddenly joined by anger. "You're not the one who looks like a fucking dead man! I know it scared you and Mum - how the hell d'you think I felt?"

"George-"

"You want me to come home, to The Burrow, to - to _our_ old room, to our old chicken coop and-"

"You want to stay here instead? Where he died?"

"Where a _lot_ of people died, Dad! Over fifty! Where I'm bloody well doing something and not sitting and reminding everybody of-"

"You're working here, you ran right into a wall that collapsed. How do you think that makes your mother feel - how do you think it makes any of us feel, that you'd be so eager to go right into the same thing that kill-" Dad cut himself off and the room suddenly hummed with tension.

"Wait a minute - you think I went to help Morag because... because what, you think I've some sort of... of _death_ wish?" George said incredulously.

"You didn't even stop to think-"

"I didn't stop to think because for all I knew somebody else had died just like he did!" George shouted. "And I'm sorry, I didn't stop to think about traumatizing you or anybody else because I didn't want anybody else to die! Why the hell do you think - d'you think everybody here has a death wish, or just me?"

He was breathless, almost speechless with unexpected rage. "You - you think it's easy - I spend every fucking moment of the day trying to push myself to keep going without going insane and trying to not, not do anything that would piss Fred off and it's taking everything I've got to not fall apart and you - you just - you decide it's out of some need to - to what? Make some dramatic gesture and follow Fred into the grave? FUCK YOU! I was trying to save Morag's life so _her_ family wouldn't have to go through the hell _we're_ going through!"

"George, I'm sorry - don't go, please - son, please, don't go." Dad was white and his eyes had filled up, and he was shaking almost as badly as George. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered, and the pounding fury seemed to seep out of George faster than he could summon it back, because it had felt good, for a few moments there, to not feel the heavy weight of sorrow and dragging depression.

"Please, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," said Dad, trying to speak through tears. "What you're doing here, it's... it's a good thing. And your mother and I are proud of how you're coping with this, but... but she's frightened half to death. And so am I. We can't lose you too, Georgie."

George bit his lip, realizing he was going to have to sit down because his legs were going to give way otherwise. He reached blindly for the hospital bed behind him.

"Please. Please come home."

He looked up at Dad, dread filling his chest. Not home. Not _home_, with everything he could never have again surrounding him. Not home; not now, maybe not ever. He glanced around the room, met nervous eyes. He'd probably scared the hell out of them all, Ginny and Harry and Percy looking at him like he'd grown a new head.

"I don't..." there was no support from them. Nobody would help him stand against his parents. And they did need him. Mum, definitely, he could've guessed that, and hadn't wanted to think about it, but Dad too. Dad, crying and asking him to come home, and how could he say no?

How could he say yes?

"I don't want to come home, Dad," he said, his voice shaking.

"Please, Georgie. Not forever. Just... for now. Please."

I don't want to, please don't make me, he wanted to say, but there was nobody to hear it. Fred-in-his-head was no help at all. Totally silent.

George bowed his head, feeling like a noose was going around his neck, and nodded.


	2. The Burrow

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much, Manny, silverbirch, crazybibliophile, and flyingdaggers, for your lovely reviews :)

**June**

Like a noose around his neck. Like he was hanging and suffocating. Or possibly drowning. Being crushed under a heavy weight. The death similes were endless.

There was bugger-all to do at The Burrow except listen to Mum cry, and try to stay as unobtrusively drunk as possible. At the school he'd been busy enough that he could pretend Fred was also busy working elsewhere, and they'd meet up in a few minutes. Here, there was nothing, nothing but a blank void where more than half of his energy, ideas, and interest in the world disappeared without a ripple.

His family tried to help, tried to draw him out, but it was impossible. Everything inside him felt dried up. He had nothing to say. And even when he did, he didn't want to hear Fred's voice coming out of his own throat.

It was Percy, of all people, who helped the most. Bill was dealing with an acute case of Wife; Charlie tried to be funny and failed so miserably it made George want to hang himself for real; Ron and Ginny didn't know what to do, how to relate to him, and were also busy with their own newly significant others. Percy, on the other hand, seemed to make it his duty to get George the hell out of the house, to have fun somehow, and it was startling enough that George went along with it.

Not to mention, Percy had interesting stories. He'd never given a damn about Percy's stories before, when they were all about marks and Head Boyness and cauldron bottoms, and he and Fred had more interesting things to do. In this weightless, purposeless, humourless grim world he was currently inhabiting, even cauldron thickness was a welcome distraction. And Percy had more than cauldron thickness to talk about; he talked about the shambles the Ministry was in, about his time working there under Umbridge, about finally seeing the light and contacting Aberforth, about the newly freed prisoners from Azkaban. About books George was reading that Percy had already read. Percy had even taken him out to a pub one night, and become rather disgracefully drunk, which was probably one of the funniest things George had seen since the end of the war.

Still. Blank. That's all he felt, most of the time.

Percy couldn't be there all the time, buried in the Ministry's What the Blazes Happened Here post-Voldemort paperwork as he was. George had endless amounts of time with bugger-all to occupy him; even the thought of returning to Wheezes made him ill, so that was right out, and Mum got nervous whenever he was gone for more than an hour. About the only thing he could do was take up reading, but old editions of Witch Weekly were somehow not as thrilling as he would have wished.

A week or so of this and it was Percy to the rescue, again: he brought over some half-decent books and he mentioned how much the Ministry needed help. They were figuring out who needed to be found, and who needed to be punished, what needed to be rebuilt or torn down, and what the bloody hell had happened; they were in dire need of volunteers. Nothing too strenuous, said Percy. Nothing all that interesting, and no obligation if George got bored. Just something to keep his mind occupied.

_Why the hell not, mate_, said his imaginary twin glumly. _Die of sheer boredom otherwise, we would._

George, bemusedly, agreed.

**ooo000ooo**

The small brown owl gave George a gentle peck, and he automatically handed over a treat, leaving the parchment she'd brought onto the table.

"What is it?" asked Arthur.

"Nothing," said George, and got up to get himself a tea.

Arthur picked up the letter. "From Verity and Naomi. Isn't Naomi your assistant who started work a month before we all had to hide?"

"Yeah, that's her."

Arthur looked at the letter and then at George, who gave him a vague 'go ahead' wave.

"They want to re-open the shop," he said, and looked back at George.

George shrugged. "They can if they want to," he said, and added sugar to his tea.

"Don't they need you to-"

"No, we had everything set up so they could do whatever they wanted with it, in case we didn't make it."

Arthur blinked, swallowed hard, and glanced over the letter again. "I think they're waiting for your permission."

George took a sip of his tea, then wandered into the living room with his book.

"George?" Arthur called out. "Are you going to answer them?"

"Sure, yeah," he said absently, sinking into a sofa and opening his book.

Arthur gazed at his son worriedly. He didn't seem drunk; he just didn't seem interested, in anything but his book.

"Do you mind if I answer them?" he asked.

George glanced up at him, surprised. "Erm... yeah, sure, go ahead," he said after a moment, and went back to reading.

Arthur sighed and went to find a parchment and quill.

**ooo000ooo**

_"You ready, then?" said Fred._

__

"Are you joking?" George replied. "Think I'm going to throw up."

Fred laughed and checked his watch. Five minutes to go. "You'll have to clean it up, if you do," he said.

"Wanker. You ready?"

"Supremely."

George sniggered and gave him a good-natured shove. "Show-off."

"It'll be easy," Fred grinned. "Just remember how it felt flying out of school. Same thing."

"Ha, I remember you nearly dying of nerves before we set that whole thing off."

Fred waved a dismissive hand. "We're a legend back there, you know. Ron says 'doing a Weasley' has become a verb in its own right."

"Sounds naughty when you say it like that." George paused. "That was one spectacular thing, though. This is ongoing. What if it fails?"

"It won't. With the kind of sales we made, even without a shop?"

George grinned. "You're right. It'll be amazing."

"Absolutely." Fred glanced over their shelves. "I only hope it's amazing enough to pay for our rent."

"If we somehow manage to sell our stock," said George. "If we can manage to guess how much is enough and not make too much so it's sitting on a shelf and not so little that customers get irate. If we have enough left over for food at the end of the day."

Fred nodded. "If we manage to sell to grown-ups with real money, not only kids with only their allowances to spend."

"If we don't get sued, or have our products kill someone," added George. "If Mum doesn't murder us in our sleep."

Fred turned back to him. "D'you know something? We sold to kids who didn't have all that much money to spare; we'll figure out supply and demand quick enough if we're willing to work at night; we can always eat our mistakes if we haven't any other food; prostitution to pay rent may be an option, especially if we come as a set; we're a lot more careful than we used to be thanks to Hermione, bless her overprotective little heart. And Mum'll wake us up to yell at us before killing us."

George nodded. "Wish it was 9AM already." He peeked out the window. "Merlin, Fred, look out there." Fred peered over his shoulder. "All those people. They're waiting for us. Real people, grown-ups and everything."

They gazed out the window raptly.

The clock struck nine.

"Ready?" said Fred.

"No," said George, laughing.

"Scared?"

"Terrified!"

_"Me too!" said Fred. They grinned at each other, and opened the door._

**ooo000ooo**_  
_

"I'm far too old for this," said Andromeda, gazing gloomily at her fussy blue-haired grandson as George took him from Harry. "And you two are far too young."

"For what?" said George, putting the baby on his shoulder. "Babysitting?"

Andromeda shook her head. "Being war veterans. Grieving for so many people."

George and Harry's eyes met briefly, and George reflected - not for the first time - that as nice as it was to come to Andromeda's, and get a break from the endless Burrow-mourning, it probably wasn't totally healthy to spend so much time in a home as filled with grief as this one. Sometimes it felt like he and his family were being crushed by the weight of having lost one son and brother; Andromeda had lost her husband, only daughter, and son-in-law, and had been left in charge of an infant, all by herself.

And yet she hardly ever seemed to complain. She was handling things with far more grace than the Weasleys, though there did always seemed to be a drink in her hand.

"You know, you don't have to come and help all the time," she told George and Harry. "Not that I'm not grateful. But you two have your own lives to get back in order."

"Don't really have much else to do, to be honest," George told her, and patted the baby's back, eliciting a surprisingly loud belch. "I don't mind."

"You're very good with him, you know," she said, and George smiled slightly. If only Fred could see him, burping a baby. "You've got a lot of brothers and sisters, right?" said Andromeda. "You probably know a fair bit about babies."

"Not really; I'm the third youngest," said George. "By the time my sister came along we were three. I've never changed a nappy in my life. I'm sure Bill and Charlie did a few."

"I haven't that much experience either, other than Dora. I was the youngest," said Andromeda. "I seem to recall my sisters not liking me very much when we were small." She brooded for a moment. "I'm not sure how accurate that memory is, though. And I don't suppose I'll ever know, now."

George nodded. With Bellatrix dead and Narcissa pretty much out of Andromeda's life... no, there wasn't anybody who would be able to answer any questions about her childhood.

"I think we tried to give Ginny to the gnomes a few times," he offered, and Andromeda gave a small chuckle.

"I'm sure you were a wonderful big brother," she said.

"Not sure Ron would agree," said George, and Harry glanced at him sharply, but didn't comment. It was like a tacit agreement between them, that they didn't talk about the Weasleys while at Andromeda's. No Ron, no Fred, no Mum and Dad, no Ginny.

He didn't know Harry's motivation, but his own wasn't just a selfish desire to get a break from the Burrow-themed gloom. Andromeda needed him, and so did Teddy. Remus and Tonks would've wanted him to help her, and help their kid. It didn't come close to paying Remus back for having saved George's life back when they were Polyjuiced as Harry, or for helping Bill through his werewolf-related problems. It didn't pay back Tonks for helping George learn to balance again after he lost his ear - a clumsy person herself, she'd had plenty of tips on how to deal with unsteadiness. It didn't pay back both of them for having helped so much with Potterwatch. But it was the least he could do.

"You're good with Teddy, experienced or not," said Andromeda. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that you two... I mean, you're young men, you have better things to do than this..."

"It's no trouble, honestly," said George, tickling the baby and watching him laugh. He chuckled as the baby's skin turned a weird mottled orange-and-white, a distant approximation of George's own freckles. Presumably it would look a little better once Teddy had control of his Metamorphmagus powers. Colours would sometimes copy perfectly, sometimes not. Teddy's hair was either blue or aqua, or the exact shade of whoever was holding him, but his skin... yeah, no control there.

He put the baby to his shoulder and patted him.

"I'll be back tomorrow, then?" said Harry, getting up and getting ready to go.

"How is training going?" Andromeda asked.

"Pretty good," he said. "We're still getting used to each other. It's a big group."

"I still can't believe how few Aurors the Ministry has left," said Andromeda, shaking her head.

"I still can't quite believe they don't even want us to do our last year," said Harry. "Seven of us in the training group have no NEWTs; four of us weren't even in school last year. They don't care."

"So you're not going back, then?" asked George.

"To school? No."

"You're sure, in Ron's case?"

"Yeah." Harry paused. "Does your Mum know?"

"In that she was still speaking to Ron this morning, I'd say probably not," said George. "She's not going to like this. She thought the training was only till Hogwarts opened again, in case you wanted to join the Aurors after you're done school. She'll go mental on him."

"I can't see her doing that," said Andromeda. "I... I wouldn't be able to be angry with any child of mine, if I had any left." She pressed her lips together and then took a large swig of Scotch, visibly pushing her thoughts away from her lost daughter.

George and Harry exchanged a glance, and George gave Harry a small nod, wordlessly assuring him he'd stay until Andromeda was a little bit more stable, or at least not pissed and alone with the baby. Harry nodded and went out the Floo.

George didn't mind. It would help keep him out of The Burrow, anyway, and away from Bill and Charlie well-meaning but rather annoying attempts to draw him out. Away from Mum's constant crying, Dad's weariness and sorrow, and Ron and Ginny's complete inability to figure out how to relate to George without Fred by his side.

Andromeda poured herself another goblet of Scotch. George put the baby on his shoulder, patting him comfortingly, and glanced at the picture of Remus and Tonks and their blue-haired newborn on the mantelpiece.

**ooo000ooo**

_"George! Hold on!" Remus yelled as blinding pain flashed through George and a torrent of hot red poured down his neck. He gulped and clutched his wand tighter, trying to keep fighting, trying to rise above the stunning pain and dizziness-_

_"Don't try to fight, George," Remus panted, "just hold on to the broom._ Protego!"

__

Don't try to fight, George thought. Right. I can do that. Hold on? That might be a bit tougher. Fred, fuck, this hurts.

_"I've got you!" Remus grunted and swerved. "_Incendio! _Hold on!"_

__

"Can't," George muttered, blinking desperately. The world was getting very dark, very fast-

"George!" Remus shouted. "Stay with me! Don't let go!"

Fred, help me, George thought as the world went dark, and Remus' arm tightened around him and-

And his head hurt, he felt shaky and sleepy, and Mum was talking to Ginny, and where the hell was Fred -

Suddenly Dad was there, asking something, him and Mum talking, but Fred...

He shifted. "How do you feel, Georgie?" asked Mum in a whisper. Fred wasn't saying a word and somehow George could feel stark fear coming from his direction. Merlin, not on, Fred needed to get a grip. George forced himself to reach for consciousness, reach past dizziness, reach past the nauseating awareness that there was a hole on the side of his head...

_He groaned. How did he feel. He brought a hand to the side of his head. He felt like he was ten percent knackered and ninety percent _hole_ on the side of his... "Saint-like," he said, smiling slightly._

__

"What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred. "Is his mind affected?"

_Ah, git. What a time to lose his sense of humour. "Saint-like," George opened his eyes. "You see... I'm holey. _Holey_, Fred, geddit?"_

__

Mum sobbed and George looked into Fred's scared eyes. Merlin, Fred, please don't collapse now, I'm in a hell of a lot of pain, and I need you.

_Fred straightened up. "Pathetic," he said. "Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for_ holey? _"_

_And then everything was OK again._

**ooo000ooo**_  
_

"How's the paperwork going?" Ron asked over Sunday dinner, and George shrugged.

"It's going."

"What are you up to now?"

"Log of all the Ministry warding spells that were compromised by the Death Eaters. Dunno why; whatever they were protecting got destroyed or the wards have been changed anyway."

"Goblins," said Bill, cutting into his very rare steak. "They loaned their ward-setters to the Ministry to re-cast their wards. They'll want to be paid for those services. I'm supposed to be in charge of the compensation claim forms, as soon as I've got the list. Didn't know you were writing it." He took a bite of steak.

"D'you want me to hurry it up, then?" George asked.

Bill swallowed and shook his head vehemently. "Merlin, no. I've got enough to do at the bank right now. If Fleur wasn't working up north right now, she'd be right pissed at how little I'm home."

"General post-war damage control?" asked Charlie.

"Mostly. Especially with repairing the damage done by these two." He nodded at Ron and Harry.

"Why do you have to repair it?" Ginny asked, finishing her mashed potatoes.

"I'm Ron's brother," said Bill.

"Oh for heaven's sake, if anything they should be grateful to you," said Mum.

"Goblins, Mum," Bill chuckled. "They don't do grateful terribly well."

"I'll never understand why you continue to work with them."

"There are certain advantages."

"Name one," said Ron, getting himself more steak, avoiding the almost still-bleeding pieces meant for Bill.

Bill thought for a moment. "It makes it that much more pleasant to go home to Fleur after a day working with them?"

George sniggered. "Bill, if you need goblins to make going home to your Veela wife more 'pleasant,' you've turned into an old, old man before your time."

Ron and Harry laughed.

"Oi, show a little respect for the old married man," said Charlie. "Don't listen to them, Bill. They're just jealous they don't have Veelas of their own."

"Oi, I did get a Veela of my own once, remember?" George said. "During this one's wedding. Would've been a perfect wedding date, if the bloody Death Eaters hadn't interrupted us right in the middle of-"

"For heaven's sake, Fred!" Mum snapped, and George laughed.

"Sorry, Mum-" and then they all froze.

George and Mum stared at each other for a long moment, and then her lip trembled and she made a strangled sound.

"Mum, it - it's all right," he said quietly, looking away. A smile quirked the side of his mouth and for a moment looked as though he was going to add something else, but thought better of it.

"George?" Mum said tentatively.

He hesitated, then gave her a small smile. "You must know if Fred were here he'd say, Honestly woman, what do I have to do around here to get you to be able to tell us apart?" and the slight tremor in his voice made Ron's throat ache.

Mum laughed, startled, and then so did the rest of them. She blinked rapidly, seeming determined to follow George's lead and not make a bigger fuss over her faux pas than was warranted. "I'm sorry," she said.

"We all had twenty years of confusing them," Ron said, trying to sound normal. "Wouldn't it be odd if we broke that habit after less than a month?"

"Almost shows lack of respect, to forget that so quickly," said Bill.

"You all right?" Ron asked George in a low voice a little while later, after Mum had gone back to the kitchen with Dad to get the pudding. George glanced at him questioningly.

"You know Mum didn't mean to-"

"It's all right," George said distantly. "Just thinking that might be the last time I'm ever called by the wrong name."

Ron swallowed hard.

"There's high potential for humour in this whole un-twinning thing, I'm sure, but I'm failing to see it. And when I do see it, it's a little inappropriate."

"When did inappropriateness ever stop you two?" asked Ginny.

George raised an eyebrow. "It stopped _me_ plenty of times. Just not Fred."

Ginny met his gaze. "Well, then I suppose if there's a joke to be told you'd best get on with it, because unfortunately, he's the quiet one now."

George gaped at her, then started laughing. "I can't believe you just said that," he said, catching his breath.

"What?" Ginny said. "It's true."

"Yeah, guess so. I definitely have the better sense of humour now. A lot... livelier."

Ginny groaned. "But he's a lot more tactful."

"And Angelina always said I was the kind one - probably why they didn't last - well, now I'm the warmer one, too."

"I always thought he was more emotional," Ginny said. "Well I must say he's being remarkably stoic about this whole death business."

"And his sense of comic timing has gone completely awry," said Percy.

George blinked at Percy in surprise, and then burst out laughing.

**ooo000ooo**

_"Mum's still crying," said Fred, reeling in his Extendible Ear and settling back on the couch in the living room between Ron and Ginny._

__

"I can't believe he's actually gone and done it," said George.

"No?" said Fred grimly. "I can't believe it took him this long."

"Look, he's always been a prat, but I honestly thought-"

"You're too trusting," said Fred scornfully. "You think just because you or I couldn't imagine betraying our family for any reason, nobody else could."

"I doubt he thinks of it as betrayal," George pointed out.

"You think it isn't? He just basically said he doesn't believe Harry, doesn't believe Dumbledore, doesn't believe Mum and Dad, because of his fucking ridiculous job!" Fred said, his voice rising and his eyes narrowed in anger. "What else would you call that?"

"Betrayal, yeah," said George. "But he doesn't see it that way! Probably thinks of it as 'loyalty to the greater good.' I'm not excusing him; just telling you how he probably thinks of it!"

_"He doesn't deserve to have you defend him!" Fred shouted. "He doesn't deserve to have_ anybody _in this family defend him!"_

__

George blinked, taken aback. "You arse! I'm not defending him!" he shouted back, as always a little slower to ignite than his twin, but giving back as good as he got. "I'm just pointing out that this is Percy we're talking about. He can't imagine doing anything that isn't 'the right thing to do', no matter how completely asinine it is. Don't shout at me just because you're pissed at him!"

Fred opened his mouth and then glanced at Ron and Ginny, who were gaping at them in disbelief, and closed it. It was like an unspoken rule in the family: Twins Never Disagree. Not in public, anyway, and hardly ever in private, either.

"You know what Percy needs?" Fred said slowly.

"A nice explosive enema to remove the large stick he's got stuck up his arse?"

"Nah, he'd collapse," said Ginny. "It's the only thing keeping him upright, what with having no spine."

Fred smirked. "He's moving out, yeah? Going to find a place of his own? What do you say we give him a going away present?"

"Something that indicates how much success we wish him in his future Weasley-less endeavours?" said George.

Fred nodded. "Something that shows how much we appreciate him."

"Something that shows exactly what we think of him."

"Something to do with dungbombs, then?" said Ginny. "Bubotuber pus is also a nice touch."

_Fred smiled at her. "We've taught her so well," he said fondly._

**ooo000ooo**_  
_

George sighed and wished he were at Andromeda's. But he'd been there enough that day, and he had a pile of papers to go through from the Ministry. He picked up the top envelope. Requisition forms for overseas wizarding communities. He worked his way steadily through them. It wasn't that different from ordering things at Wheezes, except it didn't tear at him like thinking of Wheezes did. Not that he was doing that.

Supplies arriving from Beauxbatons needed cataloguing. And they needed a translating spell cast on their third-year Arithmancy books; the Hogwarts sets had been damaged beyond repair, Flourish and Blotts was nowhere near ready to help restock, and Vector was dead. George grimaced. All that amazing knowledge, gone. Who would teach the kids how to watch for the number combinations that brought out the quirkiest and most spectacular reactions in potions? Which spells to run numbers through to benefit a growing business the most? He suppressed a sigh and began translating.

An hour into it, halfway through the book, he was starting to get drowsy and no longer sure of the difference between "aujourd'hui" and "hier", as his translating spell started to falter. Merlin, he'd best get this magic-wavering problem under control before... he headed his thoughts away from whatever the end of that sentence was going to be. Before nothing. He put a bookmark into the text and closed it.

He moved to the next pile: a list of Muggle places that had been sites of possible Death Eater attacks. He condensed the different reports, weeded out duplicate information, turned it all into a neatly summarized package for the Aurors to work with.

A boring eternity later, another list: this time a list of deaths and disappearances. The Ministry was still trying to get a handle on how many people had gone missing during Voldemort's reign, and how many had died at Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Azkaban. There were parchments of lists scribbled by people at the scene, lists of injuries from St. Mungo's, list of missing persons compiled by The Prophet. Mind-numbing work, but necessary.

He started two new parchments, labelled "Lost" and "Found". Started to compile a list of people who had been reported missing by families, friends, employers, and neighbours, and compared it to the names of people found in Azkaban.

The list was depressingly long. And he was getting a mite confused. Percy could probably help with this. Percy would probably make a chart, where he could just fill in the blanks. He got himself a drink and made himself a chart.

Right, then. People Dementor-Kissed in Azkaban. _Nameless young woman, hair: brown, eyes: blue-grey, age: early twenties, height: 5 foot 9, weight: 117lbs._ He winced, wondering if anyone had bothered to feed her. _No identifying marks. _He clipped her picture to the parchment, and made a note to ask for more pictures from the St. Mungo's staff.

Kiss victims were not pretty. He promised himself a stiff drink - or two - at the end of this particular pile.

_List of Hogwarts Dead_, said the next pile, and he began to correlate mechanically with the _Lost_ file, not letting himself dwell on the fact that "correlating" meant ending all hope for some of the families and friends who were still looking for their loved ones.

_Herbert, Jessica _, said one name, family unknown, lived in Hogsmeade, therefore probably not Muggle-born. He mechanically wrote in all the information he had on her, compiling her entry with bits and scraps from here and there, age, height, weight, description, birth date, employment, blood status, death date, cause & circumstances of death, family notified? _[No]_

_Bilbury, Jackson_, same thing. He moved down to the next entry.

_Weasley, Fred,_ he wrote. _Age 20, 5'11", 155lbs, eye colour brown, hair colour red, shop owner, blood status pureblood, died May 2, 1998, Hogwarts floor 7, cause of death: explosion, trauma, non-magical, killer unknown, possibly [Augustus] Rookwood, family notified? [Yes]_

__

Patil, Anne, Age 19, 5'7", 145lbs, eye colour blue, hair colour brown, Healer apprentice, blood status half-blood, died May 2, 1998, Hogwarts Ravenclaw tower, circumstances unknown, family notified? [Yes]

_Robertson, Maurice_

He abruptly put down the paper and shoved it away, feeling queasy. He stood to get himself another drink. Decided to make it two. Came back to the pile, now pleasantly buzzed, to find Percy staring at it in wide-eyed horror.

"You... you did Fred's death entry?" said Percy, his voice hushed.

George frowned. "Yeah."

"That's... somebody else should've done that," said Percy. "How could they send that to you?"

"It's only death entries," George snapped. "Nobody's asked me to dig any graves. Simple filling in blanks. What's got into you?"

Percy shook his head. "You shouldn't've been asked-"

"Who else would they send these to? Just about everybody in wizarding Britain's been affected, Percy," said George, and shoved him aside.

Percy passed a shaking hand over his brow. "I thought they sent volunteers donation inventory lists and lists of damaged buildings, not-"

"Look, sod off," said George. "And let me get back to my work." He knocked back the rest of his drink and sat back down.

"George, maybe you shouldn't be doing this."

"Why, because you're so much better at this than I am?"

"No. Because you're going to mess it up. You're drunk."

George shoved the paper at Percy and stood up. He moved to the window, and polished off another drink. How many was that now?

"How can your work be this good when you're this drunk?" Percy muttered under his breath, his quill scratching busily away.

"No sloppy mistakes, then, Perfect Percy? Despite the bit of a buzz?"

Percy shook his head.

"We have many talents," said George dully. "Well. _Had_. I still do; Fred's not terribly talented any more."

Percy drew in his breath, continued writing.

"Fred's not doing much of anything. Complete layabout."

Percy gave him a small, tentative smile. Humour is one of the only things that'll get you through this, thought George, and poured himself another drink.

Except humour wasn't going to do it. And the room was starting to spin.

_Weasley, Fred, age 20, 5'11", 155lbs, eye colour brown, hair colour red, shop owner_

George leaned his head against the window. Occupation shop owner, and twin. And he was utterly useless at both now, rotting in the ground with George unable to do anything but plod steadily onwards, doing _paperwork_ for fuck's sake, hearing and seeing his brother all around him but unable to talk to him, see him, joke with him, laugh with him. His brother's presence not comforting, but heavy and oppressive.

Percy started another entry. "Margaret Franks survived," he murmured. "Her mother was frantic."

"Who gives a shit?" muttered George.

"I think her mother does," said Percy.

"I don't. Keep it to yourself."

Percy looked up at him. "George." He paused. "Stop drinking."

"Don't tell me what to do."

The Floo flared up and Mum and Dad and Ginny came in, back from visiting the graveyard again, no doubt. Wonderful. More people to tell him what to do. He gave them a desultory wave and remained at the window as they moved into the sitting room.

_George, what are you doing? _

Nothing. Nothing but standing here and getting drunk. And wishing I had somebody to help me put Percy in his place.

_He's not doing anything wrong. He's just trying to help. _

Now he knew Fred-in-his-head was his own creation. Percy's motivations never would've mattered to Fred.

_They would if he was hurting too._

No they wouldn't.

"George?" said Percy.

"Shut up," said George. "I don't want to be talking to _you_." Not to the brother who'd betrayed them all. Who had then waltzed back into their lives, taken the place of George's twin, and now seemed determined to take away the only two things that were making Fred's absence bearable right now: paperwork, and alcohol.

"Look, you need to lie down. Let me take you-"

"Piss off," said George, and swayed. Fuck, he'd drunk far too much.

Dad stood up, eyeing George carefully. "George."

"No, fuck off," said George to Percy, ignoring Dad. "I don't want you here. You shouldn't even be here, it should be Fred here." George glared at the pile of parchments. "Bloody hell, I would've been able to do your death notice no problem. If you'd died instead who the fuck would've been sorry? You didn't need us, we don't need you. Good riddance."

"George!" gasped Mum.

George turned away from Percy, from all of them, and left the room.

Flying. Maybe he could go flying, far away where everything didn't hurt so fucking much any more. Where he didn't have to feel so empty, all the time, hurting, all the time.

Instead he stumbled to his new room and fell onto his bed, closed his eyes, and let sleep take him away.

**ooo000ooo**

The Burrow had too many people in it, George thought the next morning as he entered the kitchen. He mumbled good mornings to his parents, Ron and Ginny, and wished that even one of them would take him to task over what he could remember of last night. Or say something to him. Anything but this careful solicitousness, offering him a cup of coffee and saying nothing at all.

He sat down with his coffee. "Dad?" he asked, his voice low.

"Yes."

George spoke hesitantly. "Please tell me that what I remember saying to Percy last night... that I didn't really say it."

"Yes you did," Dad said after a pause.

George closed his eyes briefly and nodded, drained his coffee cup, then set it down and slowly stood up.

"Where are you going?"

"I assume Percy went back to his place?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to... I dunno, apologize or something."

"They haven't repaired his Floo connection yet," said Mum. "And you're in no state to walk from the Ministry Floo to his place, or to Apparate."

"I'm not drunk, Mum, just hung over," George said quietly.

"You won't do Percy any good, Splinching yourself."

"Mum-"

The Floo coughed and Percy stepped out.

There was a tense silence for a moment, then Percy nodded at everyone and moved to the living room.

"Just came to get my pack, I left it here last night."

"Percy," said George, and Percy looked at him warily. George cleared his throat. "Can I talk to you?"

"Why?"

"Can we go somewhere else and talk?"

Percy gave him a slight frown.

Bugger. George took a deep breath. "All right, fine. What I said to you last night, I said in public, so I should be man enough to apologize in public too, if you want."

Percy nodded, his face blank.

"I..." George cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. It's pathetically inadequate." He cleared his throat again, forcing himself to meet Percy's eyes, and continued. "What I said to you was unforgivable, and I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just wanted to know I'm sorry. If I could take it back, I would."

Percy nodded again. "It's all right."

"It's not all right."

"You all forgave me three years of betraying all of you," he pointed out.

George looked down, fidgeting with his coffee cup. Percy glanced around the kitchen and gently took George's shoulder, leading him out to the living room.

"It's all right," he repeated once they were alone. "You were drunk."

"It's not all right. God, what the fuck is wrong with me," George whispered, his voice breaking.

"You're not yourself right now." Percy cleared his throat. "Thanks for not telling me you didn't mean it," he said. "I know it would've been easier on everybody if it'd been me. I know that."

"Fuck, Percy," George said, his chest tight. "Don't say that anywhere near Mum. It nearly killed her when you left the family; can you imagine what she'd feel like if you'd died without us being able to see you for more than a few hours?" He shook his head. "I don't wish you'd died instead of Fred. I wish _I_ had, but not you."

Percy frowned. "George, Merlin, d'you mean that?"

George shook his head. "No, of course not, forget I said that. Figure of speech."

"Because if you do-"

"I _don't_." George firmly got a hold of himself. "It was a figure of speech," he said.

"You need to talk to Mum and Dad about this."

"You obviously think they haven't worried enough about me and my shite."

"They wouldn't be able to bear losing you too. None of us would."

"Percy," said George. "Drop it. Please."

Percy frowned at him, but nodded. Then he cleared his throat. "You know, you didn't have to apologize."

"What?"

"After what I did, going against all of you-"

George huffed out his breath, annoyed. "You apologized for that and we all accepted it. Bloody hell, Fred was the first to forgive you."

Percy gave him a small smile. "That just about floored me, to be honest. After the last time I came home... that he would just say 'That's all right' as if it hadn't been more than a simple misunderstanding."

George shook his head. "He wouldn't have held a grudge. Neither do I. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened; you don't have to keep trying to make up for it."

Percy nodded. "I... I know, I'm probably pissing you off just by being here. I know that. We never got along before." He pushed his glasses up. "Don't know why I thought we would now."

"We do," said George. "I do, anyway."

"Why?"

George thought for a moment. "You don't... you've been the only member of our family that I can be with without... I dunno, without feeling like I'm..." he trailed off, not knowing how to say it without sounding completely maudlin. Alone. Incomplete. Missing something.

"What?"

"Mum and Dad have each other, Bill's got Fleur, Charlie's got his bloody dragons, Ron's got Hermione and Ginny's got Harry, and you're the only one who doesn't have anybody else." He swallowed. "So then I go and treat you like shit."

"I didn't blame you, you know," said Percy after a moment. "I thought you might feel that way. That I should've died instead, I mean."

George shook his head. "It's not because it's you. Only... I wish Fred had survived, that's all."

"Don't we all." Percy pushed up his glasses. "Are we all right, then? With this?"

"Dunno. Are we?"

Percy nodded. "I am. It never happened."

George nodded, and wished with all his heart that it were really that easy.

**ooo000ooo**

"He's not doing well here, Molly," said Dad.

"But we can help him," said Mum, and Ron tried to think of a way to ask what possible help it could be to George to be shut up in this house, where grief permeated every single room, with almost no way out. Ron was sure that without his own escape to the Aurors and to Hermione's place, he'd go stark raving mad himself, and they'd all be lucky if all he did was say some ugly things to Percy.

"Mum, we're not helping," said Ron. "He's got nothing to do here."

"But he needs us," she insisted.

"He's not a kid," said Ginny. "He doesn't need you to take care of him."

"But he needs-"

"How about if you're trying to figure out what he needs, you ask him," said George, coming into the kitchen, followed by Percy. "Just a suggestion." He poured himself another coffee. "Feel free to ignore him, though."

There was a long pause. "Is... are you all right?" asked Dad.

"Yeah." George took a sip and sat down at the kitchen table. "Just hung over." He paused. "Sorry, Mum."

Mum cleared her throat. "So what do you want to do?"

George sighed. "I want to go home." He dropped his gaze to the table top. "And yeah, I know, I'll always have a home here, and my own place is a bit empty right now. I still want to go there."

"But what'll you do?" asked Mum, sitting down as well.

"Go back to living in the flat above the shop. For now, anyway."

"George..."

"It's going to be hard, Mum, I know," he said wearily. "But it's not like it'll get easier the longer I stay here."

There was another silence.

"Besides, I should get back to the shop, figure out what do with it."

"What do you mean?"

"Verity and Naomi have been running it for the last few weeks. It's doing good business, apparently. I've got to decide, though..."

"What?"

"Whether to sell it or not."

"...sell your shop?" Ron said faintly after a long, shocked silence.

"George, it was your dream," Dad began.

"Yeah, Dad, _our_ dream. Not sure I can keep it going on my own."

"We could help," said Mum.

"I don't want to just keep it going if my heart's not in it."

"Well of course it's not right now, but-"

"Oh for God's _sake_, Mum, leave it!"

"I could help," said Ron.

"You're going to start full-time Auror Training."

"Not right away. I could help out evenings and weekends."

"And I'm out of a job, actually," said Percy, and George choked on his coffee.

"What?"

"Well, I am," said Percy, reddening a little at the family's shocked expressions. "I'm fairly good at book-keeping. If you needed help at-"

"You're offering - are you mental?" George started to laugh, one of the first genuine laughs they'd heard from him in weeks. "Oh my God can you picture Fred's face if he knew you were going to work at our shop?"

Ron caught his breath. Yeah, he wanted to say. A lot like yours. Without the gaunt look and sadness behind the smile.

"George," began Mum, "you don't have to go - this is your home-"

"I'm not Fred, Mum. I can't be."

"Of course you're not-"

"I'm not the one who died. I'm sorry you lost a son, but I can't make up for that."

"We're not asking you to make up for it."

"Yeah, you are. I can't bring him back for you. And I need to get the hell out of here."

"George-"

"You look at me and you see him! You think if you can keep me safe, that'll make some sort of difference, but it won't, all right?"

"Georgie... please."

There was a long silence. "I've got to go, Mum. I'm sorry."


	3. Wheezes

**Author Note:** Thanks so much to silverbirch, Deciesjo, FluffyDuff, and bibliophile for your lovely reviews :) :) :)

**July**

_"How are you going to make that one up?" asked Fred. "We've no more goldenrod."_

__

"You can substitute saffron."

"Hideously expensive, though."

Suddenly a wolf-shaped Patronus appeared in the lab. "It's time," it said. "Get out. Right now."

Fred and George gaped at the Patronus, then at each other, and drew their wands.

"Merlin," said Fred, swallowing hard. "Well, it's showtime. Let's go."

George swept through the store, making sure the wards were holding, setting a few observation charms, scanning the area around them and outside as well. Fred triggered the protective charms they'd placed around the products and then called Verity and Naomi.

"We're leaving," Fred told them bluntly. "Our brother Bill just sent us a message, Death Eaters may show up at the shop any moment now to arrest us." Verity and Naomi both gaped at Fred. "We don't think we're a big priority, and the shop's well warded, so they won't be able to break through right away. For all we know everybody here may be safe for days, but I wouldn't count on it."

"We've made Portkeys for both of you and your families," added George. "You can take them and go underground if you want. Or you can try your luck and stay in London, since you really don't know anything. Here." He handed them both packages he and Fred had made for them back around the time of the wedding - memory charms to throw at anybody who tried to grab them, letters explaining what had happened, two months' salary, Portkeys to safe locations.

"If you want to keep running the shop in our absence, you're welcome to try," said Fred, his voice more clipped and businesslike than George had ever heard it before. "There's spells on some Defence products you won't be able to sell to anybody. Now, help us clear the shop of customers."

George moved quickly, shrinking and putting away their most expensive items. "Sorry, we're closing now," he said, pushing customers out with a Busy Somewhere charm.

"Oh dear... I've got to... to go, I'll be late," said a woman who had been about to look through the WonderWitch line. "I..." she looked at the merchandise in her hand.

"You paid already," George told her with a smile. She was a bit of a twit, but her daughter was funny as hell, and who knew when they'd be able to get her the sweets she loved so much.

"Ready?" said Fred, as the last customer exited, and Verity and Naomi were whisked away by their Portkeys. George checked his watch: exactly five minutes since Bill's Patronus.

"Ready - oh fuck!" George gasped as Diagon filled with shrieks, and men in masks dashed themselves against the shop doors, bouncing off the wards and hitting the buildings across the street.

George smirked. "May've made those a little too strong, mate."

Fred grinned at him. "Come on." He glanced around the place one last time, a wistful look on his face.

"We'll be back," George said. "Don't worry. In the meantime we'll still have Owl Order to drive Auntie Muriel mental."

Fred grinned. "Yeah. Let's go."

_"How long d'you think it'll be before they trigger the aerial U-No-Poo?" was the last thing George said to Fred as they left their shop together for the last time._

**ooo000ooo**

Verity and Naomi had been amazing, opening the shop without George and keeping it going for weeks. Ron and Percy soon settled in as well, despite Ron's Auror training and Percy's continued volunteer work for the Ministry. It was going well, at first.

And if George was having nightmares, and drinking a tad more than he had been at The Burrow, and if his magic didn't always work perfectly, well, that wasn't that big a problem. Nightmares and drinking were hardly unique to him these days - though Andromeda at least was cutting down - and according to Hermione, magical dysfunction was common "after a great loss". He just had to work at things a little more. Get Naomi and Verity to double-check product before it went on the shelf. It was a bit of a pain in the arse, and cost extra in overtime wages, but the shop was raking in Galleons like never before.

It was good that he'd come back to Wheezes. At least, it was better than being at The Burrow. He told himself that every day, in the hopes that some day he'd believe it, instead of wishing he was somewhere, _anywhere_, else.

It came down to options and possibilities. He wanted, desperately, to sell the place - to leave and never come back, to not feel like he was working in Fred's grave, to not hear Fred-in-his-head all the time, to not feel Fred's memory surrounding him all the time - but where would he go? Without Fred to tell him what to do, he had no clue what to do next. Where he was, was miserable, but there was nowhere else to go. And nobody to talk to about how he felt. Family was no help at all.

"Merlin, I miss Fred," Ron said one day as they finished restocking the supply cupboards.

"Do you?" George said, his voice tense.

"Yeah. I wish... Mum says we shouldn't upset you, remind you about him," said Ron, and closed the purple cupboard's door. "But I don't want us to forget him."

"I have no trouble remembering him, Ron," George said grimly. "No trouble at all. I spend most of my time trying _not_ to remember him, thanks very much." He closed a box of Incendiary Ink bottles and shoved it into the pink cupboard, checking off the list of safety procedures before closing the cupboard.

No, skipping the containment spell was _not_ an option; the whole place might blow up. He blew out his breath and opened the door again, and cast the spell.

"D'you want me to not talk about him then?" Ron asked hesitantly.

"That'd be grand," said George, and hoisted a crate of Poison Pens up to the top shelf of the yellow cupboard. And thank Merlin, Ron merely moved off to clean cauldrons and didn't pursue the matter further. Because "remembering Fred is only likely to make me want to hex you for being such a piss-poor substitute for him" wasn't something he particularly wanted to say to his little brother. It wasn't Ron's fault, and the poor kid was doing his best, despite being somewhat over-extended with Auror Training on top of his duties at the shop. And he was mourning Fred too. George tried to remind himself of that, every time he got the urge to throttle Ron for the crime of not being Fred.

**ooo000ooo**

_"Why do I have to hold your hand?" Ronnie asked suspiciously._

__

"Because that's how you do it," said George.

"Is it going to hurt?" asked Ron, hands still behind his back. George and Fred stifled smiles. It wasn't that they wanted to hurt Ronnie, but he was awfully pesky and the pig's nose trick had been pretty funny.

"No, of course not," said Fred. "It'll be cool, you'll see."

"Really?"

"Really."

"And you'll give me all your Marvin comics?"

"Yeah."

"All of them? Even the one with the flim?"

"Yeah," said Fred.

"And it's called a film," said George.

"All I have to do is promise to be your lakey in all things forever?"

"Lackey. You have to say it properly or it won't work and you won't get the comics."

"What's a lackey?"

"A really good little brother."

Ronnie was still not fully convinced. George couldn't help but be a little proud of him; Ron was too small to be much fun, and he was a pain when he tried to tag along after them all the time, but he wasn't totally pathetic. He had at least figured out by now that blindly trusting the twins brought him little joy and them endless laughs.

Fred sat back and stared at Ronnie for a long moment. "You know what?" he said to George. "I don't think... maybe this isn't such a good idea."

George blinked and then followed his lead. "Why's that, Fred?"

"I don't think Ronnie'll be a good lackey after all. D'you think maybe Percy might want the comics?"

"Percy?" Ronnie said, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, maybe," said George slowly. "Mum's always going on about what a good, responsible brother Percy is. Hm..." he trailed off, then started to rise. "You're right, Fred. I think we better ask Percy. Ronnie's still too much of a baby."

Ron's mouth dropped open in dismay. "No! You said - you asked me! Not boring old Percy!"

"Yeah, but-"

"I'll do it!" said Ron, holding out his hand.

Fred and George waited a credible amount of time, then reluctantly sat back down. Fred reached out and took Ron's grubby hand in his own.

"Ready, then?" he said to George.

"Yeah," said George, though to tell the truth, he hadn't been totally sure this was a good idea when Fred had proposed it. After all, what exactly did happen, if an Unbreakable Vow was broken? And what if cousin Mafalda's discarded old wand that they'd found in the attic went wonky again, the way it had when they'd tried to use it to gather all the eggs from the chicken coop so they wouldn't have to, and it made all the eggs explode into a shower of origami chicks instead?

It was too late to back out now, though. He knelt back down, holding out the splintery old wand.

Ron was looking at it suspiciously. "Mummy says we're not supposed to play with wands."

"Mummy says a lot of things," said Fred. "You're not going to tell Mummy on us, are you? Because that's not what a good lackey does."

"No?" said Ronnie.

"Good man," said George. "Go ahead, Fred."

Fred gave Ronnie a reassuring grin. "Will you, Ronald Weasley, promise to be a good lackey to your brothers Fred and George Weasley?"

"Yes?" said Ron, and a wavery tendril of flame came out of the wand and went around Fred and Ron's wrists. George suppressed a shout of excitement. It was working!

"Will you promise to get us everything we ask you for, whenever we ask you to?"

Ron pouted. "Yes." A slightly stronger tendril wound around the first.

"Will you promise to give us your Chocolate Frog cards when they have Ludo Bagman on them?"

"Yes," Ronnie said scornfully. He shared their father's disdain for Ludo.

"Will you promise to-"

"What's going on here?" Dad appeared as if from nowhere, and Fred and George looked up at him, startled.

"We're... playing?" they said.

They had a back-up plan, but they'd forgotten it. Right! George was supposed to say they were -

"Where did you get that wand?" Dad asked.

"Mum said we could have whatever was in the box," Fred said. "We weren't sure she meant the wand, but then she was awfully busy with the baby so we didn't want to bother her. She wouldn't have said it was all right if it wasn't, would she?"

But Dad wasn't listening to their rather weak excuse, because he was now staring at the shining chain around Fred and Ronnie's wrists, and George very very much wanted to put the wand down and stop the spell but the grownups hadn't said anything about whether you could just stop in the middle of this one.

Dad's eyes grew wide. "Did you boys hear us talking about the Unbreakable Vow yesterday?"

"No!" said Fred, and "What's that?" said George, but Dad didn't buy it for a second.

They were in for it now.

"But you said that's what we were doing!" said Ron.

"No, we didn't!" they both said.

"What did they want you to promise, Ron?" asked Dad, carefully taking the wand from George and whispering something that made the bands of light disappear.

"They said I had to say I would be their lakey forever and ever," said Ron, and George wanted to hit him on the nose.

"Whose idea was this?" Dad said, rolling Mafalda's old wand back and forth in his hand.

"Both of us," said George, and "Mine," said Fred.

"Ronnie, go inside and tell Mummy that Daddy said you need some chocolate," Dad said, his voice gentle but his face turning very red, and oh, Merlin - he looked like Mummy, right before they were going to really get it, and George and Fred exchanged a horrified glance.

_"I cannot believe this!" Dad exploded as soon as Ronnie was out of sight, his curiosity and his normal eagerness to see the twins punished firmly trounced by the prospect of chocolate. "You two! I cannot - do you have _any_ idea how dangerous that was?"_

__

Fred and George stared at him. Dad just didn't get angry. Ever.

"Do you know what happens when you break an Unbreakable Vow?"

Fred and George shook their heads.

"If you break an Unbreakable Vow, you die," said Dad harshly. "You two were this close to becoming murderers."

Fred and George were speechless.

_"I have had enough of you two," said Dad, and George didn't think he'd ever felt as bad as right then. Because Mummy was always on about something or other, they were always setting her off, and they'd learned years ago to not take anything she said too seriously, but Dad. _Dad_, so angry and so disappointed in them and so disgusted with them, Dad who often laughed at their pranks and then tried to look stern as soon as Mum looked at him. Dad was so, so angry. And Ronnie could've _died, _because of them._

__

Fred made a strangled noise, and George chanced a glance at him, then quickly looked away. Because Fred was sniffling, and trying not to. And now George wanted to cry too, but they were seven years old and they were far too old to blubber like Ronnie did all the time.

Dad got up and hauled them both up by the back of their shirts. "Don't even imagine a fake sniffle is going to get you out of this," he said grimly, and marched them out to the shed.

_It didn't even matter that the shed had the strap that had been used on generations of Weasley boys but Dad had used all of three times - all on Charlie - because he'd heard that Muggles believed giving children the strap was barbaric. No strap could hurt as badly as the disappointment and anger in Dad's face and voice._

**August**

Wheezes was turning into an even wilder success than it had been before the war, and the place was always filled with laughter. Mum, Dad, Bill, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Harry, Lee - almost every friend and family member George had was there all the time, helping out. Ron turned out to be surprisingly useful, suggesting and helping to invent one product after another after another. He even invented Cat-Got-Your-Tongues, from ideation to creation to testing to marketing, all by himself, to great success. The place was flourishing.

Which was good, because George's magic was not getting any better, and his mood was, if anything, getting worse.

Angelina came by. It was awkward, talking to her, and it shouldn't have been. They had been friends since they were eleven, gone to classes together and lived in the same dorm, stayed friends through her fling with Fred and their break-up, and he'd never had any problem talking to her. But now there were gaps in their conversation. Gaps Fred should've filled.

They made small talk about the shop and Angelina's search for a nice flat and the state of Diagon Alley and looked good to move on to the weather next when Angelina said, "You remember Luna? I've heard she's having some trouble."

"Lovegood?"

"Yeah, she's not going back to school this year."

"Wish I didn't have to," muttered Ginny, who was stacking bottles of Yummy Mummy perfumes into a teetering pyramid next to them.

"Why isn't she going back?" asked George.

"Her Dad. He's gone a bit funny in the head, it seems, and it's set her off too."

_How would anybody know the difference?_ said Fred-in-his-head, but Fred-in-his-head had never lived in the dismal world of Grief. He didn't know that really, there were times when it just wasn't funny.

Or maybe it was, and George simply couldn't see it any more. Couldn't figure out how to make this uncomfortable conversation feel better, flow more easily, maybe remind everybody that there was still laughter in the world. Because if you couldn't poke a little fun at the lunatic Lovegoods, what was the point of living?

"What's wrong with him?" asked Ginny, and the moment was gone.

"He's rather paranoid," said Angelina. "Seeing all sorts of sinister things all around him."

"He's always done that."

"Yeah, but now he's terrified of them. Gets notions like the Death Eaters are still in the Ministry, vampires and Dementors are staging a comeback, that sort of thing. Luna feels that she needs to take care of him until he's better. He had to be admitted to the hospital after he tried to hex Florian Fortescue for harbouring Heliopaths in his icebox, and Luna went in with him."

"How do you know?"

"I've been volunteering at the hospital."

"Damn, I should go visit her," said Ginny. "Poor Luna."

"And... you?" Angelina asked George. "How's your health? Lee mentioned something about you having magic trouble?"

And suddenly this wasn't something he wanted to discuss with her. Which was odd; it was a pain in the arse, but he didn't have much of a problem when his family and friends mentioned it. Angelina was different, though, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Yeah, a bit," George muttered. "Not that big a deal, though."

"Are you going to see a Healer?"

"Yeah, I go about once a month anyway." Angelina tilted her head. "Because of the ear," he clarified.

"You should really talk to them about the magic thing too," she said.

George nodded uncomfortably.

"Angelina! Fancy meeting you here!" said Lee, entering the shop. Angelina smiled at him, a genuine, relaxed smile. "How long has it been? An entire week?"

Angelina snorted. "Three days, you arse," and George felt a sharp pang, which didn't subside as they started to chat easily about a Quidditch game they'd seen recently, and a Hogwarts Rebuilding Fundraiser concert they'd attended, and a pudding Lee had dropped off at Angelina's.

Apparently they were spending a great deal of time together. So what? There was no need for this surge of... what was it? Jealousy?

So they were friends. Close friends. Might even end up dating each other, as Lee had been hoping for since about third year. So what? George and Lee were best friends, never mind that they didn't seem to have much to say to each other these days; it wasn't as though Lee would cut him out of his life just because he was dating Angelina. And the nagging feeling that these two dating was somehow disrespectful of Fred was silly; Angelina hadn't been with Fred in years. Besides, who could blame Lee for wanting her? If it hadn't been for Fred, George would've wanted her too. He was loyal to his brother, but he wasn't blind.

**ooo000ooo**

"How are you feeling, Mr. Weasley?" asked the Healer, examining George's missing ear.

Good, great, just the usual minor annoyances. He'd been saying that for over a year. "Fine," he said. "Other than hearing things that aren't there."

"I beg your pardon?" The Healer put down her wand, alarmed.

George blinked at her. "You know, echoes, or high-pitched sounds? I mentioned that last time I was in."

"Oh!" said the Healer, relieved. "Oh, that's all right, then."

"Why, what did you think I meant?"

"Erm, nothing," she said. "Only we've had a lot of people with mental maladies since the end of the war. We're even going to be hiring a Muggle-trained psychiatrist in here; our Cheering Charms specialists are getting a bit overwhelmed."

"Really?"

"Yes, people are hallucinating all sorts of things. We have a patient who swears she can see _Nargles_, if you can believe that, in our potted plants." She shook her head.

"That's too bad." Probably not the time to tell her about Fred-in-his-head. Thank God for having enough sanity to be able to tell the difference between real unexplained phenomena and mere vivid wishful thinking.

"All right, so we'll increase the dosage of the Hearing potion. And your dizzy spells: are they a bit more under control?"

"Yeah, nothing too serious there."

"Just remember the Balance Spell when it happens."

"I will."

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" asked the Healer.

George hesitated. "I'm still having trouble with my magic."

"Still? What kind?"

"Same as before; it just feels as though there's less of it. Or suddenly sometimes there's more. I can't seem to control it very well."

"I did point out that that is normal after a loss."

George bit back the urge to snap, 'It's a _death_, not a loss. It's not like Mum'll find Fred behind the couch next time she tidies my flat.' "You also said it should begin to clear itself up within a few weeks. It's been over three months."

The Healer nodded. "It's just a combination of the ear and the loss, in all likelihood. Why don't I prescribe some Cheering Potions for you, and we'll see how you're doing next month." She scribbled on a prescription parchment and glanced at the clock on the wall. "Maybe I should run a couple of tests," she mused, then shook her head. "No. It's not causing you major distress, is it? You mentioned last time that your employees re-test everything you make."

"No, not major distress." Other than having to clean up blood in the lab a bit more than before. Best not say that either.

"Then why don't I wait till next time to do the tests, if this hasn't cleared up by then. They take a little long and I've a rather heavy schedule today."

"All right."

"Well then, you're free to go, Mr. Weasley. We'll see you next month."

"Thanks."

He put his cloak back on and left, musing distractedly on the Healer's attitude. There was no need to feel put off; if the Healer wasn't worried, in all likelihood there wasn't anything to worry about. This would clear itself up, eventually. He just had to be patient.

He stepped aside as a couple of Aurors with a Death Eater in magical chains between them went past him and down the hall to the Healer, and a sudden surge of fury rushed through him. George was suffering from wonky magic and a missing ear, Mum was brewing and taking far too many Cheering Potions, Fred was lying in the ground, and the Healer had to rush George through because she had a _Death Eater_ to attend to?

He turned on his heel, strode off the Small Extremities Injuries Ward and headed for the lift, battling a growing impulse to slowly and painfully kill the chained man he'd just seen. Take all the bones out of his body and watch him writhe in agony, and all those Muggle anatomy books he and Fred had read for product research came back to him: the lungs couldn't breathe without ribs to expand and allow them to fill with air, the bowels would fall out without a pelvic girdle, the airway would collapse with no vertebrae to anchor it. Or maybe he could cast something to remove the upper layer of the Death Eater's skin and make his nerve endings shriek in agony as air hit them. Or maybe turn all organ tissues into glass so they'd shatter at the first breath, at the first heartbeat - no, then it would be over too quickly, that was no good-

"George?"

He blinked, startled, finding himself nowhere near the lift, Luna Lovegood's odd blue eyes staring up at him.

George shook his head, struggling to pull himself back from the disturbing place he'd just been in. He glanced at the sign on the wall: _Janus Thickey Ward for Mental Maladies._

"What are you doing here?" George blurted, and felt sheepish for a split second before reminding himself that this was Luna Lovegood. Unlikely to be offended by minor social blunders.

"Daddy thinks I'm not right in the head," she said glumly. "Why are you here?"

"I was seeing a Healer on the Injuries Ward."

"Why?"

"I get dizzy and my magic isn't working well," said George.

"Is the magic because of your ear, or because Fred's dead?"

George blinked. That was rather direct. His family tended to avoid the words "dead" and "Fred" in the same sentence, and not just because of the unintentional silliness of the rhyme.

"Not sure, I don't think. Might not have anything to do with either."

"It might have to do with Umgubular Slashkilters," she said, her voice subdued. "Most people think they don't exist. My dad said Cornelius Fudge had one to diminish his enemies' magic. He says there's more of them around now."

"Do you believe that?"

Luna hesitated. "I think maybe he's wrong," she said softly. "I think maybe he's imagining things. I think maybe he has been, for a long, long time."

George nodded, still feeling utterly off-balance, and suddenly noticed that the girl before him didn't look much like the Loony Lovegood he'd known in the DA. She'd always looked dreamy and off in some bizarre world of her own, but happy to be there. Now, her eyes were downcast, her spirit almost visibly dimmed.

He wondered if he looked the same. Hastily pushed those thoughts away.

"Listen, are you allowed off the floor?" he found himself asking.

Luna nodded. "Yes, if I'm accompanied by someone else."

"D'you want to maybe get some tea on the fifth floor?"

Luna blinked, a small smile appearing on her face. She seemed to perk up a bit as they signed her out, and become almost herself again once they were in the tea room and she started to tell George a bit about her dad, and his problems, and their magazine. George sipped on his tea, finally feeling somewhat less murderous as she talked, though to tell the truth he wasn't really listening to her. That had been... rather disturbing.

Would Fred have been disturbed by that kind of thing? He really couldn't say. Sometimes Fred's impulses had scared George - and Fred too - because he didn't seem to see that there was such a thing as going too far. It was always George's role to put the brakes on - or, at least, try to - when they were going to make Ron take the Unbreakable Vow, when they were going to blackmail Ludo Bagman, when they were going to send Percy's office a package of dung that exploded and sang "Who's in love with Mr. Crouch?" when he first went to work at the Ministry. Without George there, would Fred have been able to see that Death Eater and _not_ loose an Unforgivable or two in his direction?

Luna's chatter had slowed down, he realized. "That's really interesting," he said, though he had no clue what she'd been talking about other than it had something to do with Plimpies. "Where did you learn that?" he asked, and evidently it was the right thing to say, because she was off again and sounded almost happy. Or at least, not as subdued as when George had first run into her.

Well, for good or bad, he _wasn't_ Fred. The Death Eater he'd seen was hopefully suffering horribly already, and he was here with a girl who was going through some difficult times, and if he could bring some kind of cheer into her life maybe that was a good thing. He tried to focus on her.

"So Daddy and I are both here now," she was saying. "I had hoped Daddy would let me help rebuild the magazine, but he's frightened of many of our writers." She trailed off, then focused on George, as if seeing him for the first time.

"How is your shop?"

"Wheezes? Doing well."

"Is it? Could I come by, once I'm allowed out?" she asked, and her eyes seemed lit up for the first time since he'd seen her. She was almost pretty in her own weird way, but now he was thinking of all the somewhat dangerous things in the shop that could be used to cause a fair amount of pain for men like the one he'd just seen-

"Of course," he said. "You'd be welcome." He cleared his throat, and asked Luna about her gnomes, pushing away all thoughts of the more violent Wheezes that could be used for all sorts of nefarious purposes. Wishing he could be fully _here_, talking to Luna, or back at the shop, or anywhere but in his own head right now, with violence wanting out. As though instead of being one person with two bodies, as he had often been with Fred, he was now two people in one.

**ooo000ooo**

_"You're mental. Runes instead of Charms?" said Fred, frowning at George's parchment._

__

"What? Runes is brilliant!"

"Not for what we're going to do, George," said Fred impatiently. "We've got to think of our future here, right?"

George sniggered. "Mum? Is that you?"

Fred snorted. "I'm serious, mate. We need Charms, Flitwick's brilliant, it's our best subject-"

"Yeah, it's our best subject. We could probably teach it. Besides, we're already taking Transfigurations and Potions and Herbology and bloody filling our time with the serious classes; can we not do something fun instead?"

"Runes? Fun?" said Lee in disbelief. "Since when?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "That's not the point, George. Yeah, I want to read Ethelbercht's Sensuals in the original Norse as much as you do, but come on."

"Well I can't believe you picked Charms on top of everything else we've got. We're not trying to outdo Percy, here."

"You just want to learn how to write dirty words in Futhark."

George chuckled. "Too right. Can't believe you don't."

"I don't want to waste my time, no matter how entertaining the course."

They glared at each other, and then blew out their breaths and gazed at their parchments.

"Toss a coin?" said George.

"You always cheat, you wanker," said Fred. He scowled at the parchment. "Too bad we can't be in two places at once."

Lee nodded and then blinked. "Hang on, what?" The twins looked at him, and he started to chuckle. "Bloody hell, you're not Siamese."

"What?"

_"You _can_ be two places at once, you know," he said, and his chuckle grew into a laugh at their baffled expressions._

__

"Charms and Runes are offered in the same period, Lee," said George patiently. "We've got to pick one or the other."

_"No you _don't_, you daft gits," said Lee. "Here, let me help you. Fred, you take Charms. George, you take Runes."_

__

The twins' eyebrows shot up and they gaped at Lee, who laughed even harder.

_"You're pathetic. It honestly didn't occur to you?"_

**ooo000ooo**_  
_

It was odd, the things that were being found as the wizarding world rebuilt itself, and the odd ways they were being put to use.

In August, just as Wheezes went to gear itself up for the busiest time of the year, the volunteers rebuilding Hogwarts found a stash of powdered fairy dung in the Carrow's rooms. They had no earthly use for it, but Hermione, who was involved in rebuilding (as well as trying to read ahead for her delayed Seventh Year, helping house elves who had lost their masters in the war, and helping her parents get back to their real lives again) mentioned it to Percy, who mentioned it to Ron. Who suggested that Wheezes take it off the school's hands to George, while pretending it had nothing to do with trying to get him out of the shop. It had been a particularly bad day, a week after the visit to St. Mungo's: George had melted a cauldron, caused the Pygmy Puffs to perform a kind of frantic jig for about an hour, made half the WonderWitch products go from shocking pink to puce, almost disemboweled himself, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

"I'm so glad you can use this," said Hermione, greeting George at the Floo in McGonagall's office. "It's going to go to rot here otherwise. And frankly, we didn't know how to get rid of it."

"It's dead useful for Flashing Grins," said George, wishing he could feel some enthusiasm for it. "Why didn't you just send it to us by Floo, though?"

"There's nobody to send it, we're all quite busy."

"Huh." George didn't bother to point out that Hermione could've taken it through herself with far less loss of time than she was taking right now. It wasn't as though he was all that keen on being in the shop these days - other than in the testing lab, which was looking good to do him in one of these days if he didn't start being a hell of a lot more careful.

Inspecting the supplies and casting a charm to protect them from Floo ash didn't take much time, and soon enough they were heading back towards McGonagall's office, a large package floating along behind them.

"You know, now that you're here," said Hermione, "I wouldn't mind showing you some of what's been going on here. It's all come a long way since you were here last."

George nodded, and they left the package next to McGonagall's Floo. They walked through the castle, with Hermione pointing out places fixed and places still being rebuilt, and he tried not to flinch at each corner that screamed of him and Fred - the one-eyed witch, the pear you could tickle to get into the kitchens to get food from the house elves, the alcove where they'd hidden and cast a hex on Marcus Flint to give him boils on his arse the day before the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match...

Funny how much he'd wanted to stay here after the Battle. It should've felt horrible, remaining in the very place that had killed Fred, seeing their second home almost in ruins every day, but it had seemed necessary. Like there was something he needed to do here. Maybe help rebuild, heal the building as he couldn't heal Fred, maybe have a place where he could get used to being alone, maybe try to accept Fred's death as slowly as possible. Leaving had been a wrench.

But coming back was not pleasant either. Never mind that the school was mostly back on its feet; he felt nothing of what he'd felt in the first few days after the Battle. No comforting sense that his brother might just be busy on another floor.

"George, why don't we go to the library?" said Hermione, her voice just a tad too casual.

"Sure. For what?"

Hermione paused, then faced him and took a piece of parchment out of her pocket. "Erm. I've... I've got a list." She showed him. "Ron - I mean, you had mentioned that you were having some difficulties with your magic lately. So I thought I'd put together a list of topics you can maybe read up on, see if you can figure it out. I understand the St. Mungo's Healers are a little swamped right now."

George looked at her parchment. It was colour-coded, with a list of topics and possible sources of information: _magical dysfunction, too much magic, grief, magical drain, sudden onset magical malaise._

He blinked. "Why in hell would I want to?" he said, and winced at her surprised, hurt look. "No, sorry." Bugger, he hated this; if Fred were here they would've just made a joke out of it and it would've been fine. "You're right, it's probably a good idea." He recalled Ron's relieved look as he'd pushed George into the Floo and out of the shop. "And it'll keep me busy, if nothing else," he muttered.

Hermione nodded, and they headed for the library. She smiled at him tentatively as they reached it. "Also, Ron says you've turned into a bit of a bookworm. You might just find something to read for fun."

She opened the doors, and he drew in his breath at its almost painful familiarity. Damn, there he went again. How many hours had they spent here, looking for new Potions ideas, Charms to use, ways to annoy Pince?

"Here," said Hermione, and flipped over the parchment, showing a map she'd made of the library's stacks, with circles around the ones that might hold resources for them. _Defence Against the Dark Arts, Advanced Charms, Magical Theory, Medical Magic, Divination._

"Divination? What for?" asked George.

Hermione shrugged. "I'll admit, it's a long shot, but perhaps it's something we can try to figure out from the future. Look into the future to see whether you discover what's wrong, or are able to fix it."

George felt a stab in his chest. "And what if we find I didn't fix it?"

"It might be useful to see that, too," said Hermione, her mind still clearly fixed on the intellectual challenge and not fully registering what he'd said. "I don't think that's terribly likely, but if so, it might be better to simply concentrate our efforts on mitigating the effects."

George shook his head, dizzy all of a sudden. Damn. Damn. He was going to throw up, right in Madam Pince's cherished Advanced Charms section, because the idea of seeing the future filled him with cold dread.

"I've always thought Divination's pure bosh," he said harshly.

"Well, to be honest, so have I," said Hermione, a little startled. "I thought... you're usually fairly open-minded, though. It was just a suggestion."

"Thanks. Erm. I'll pass," said George, and hoped she couldn't hear his voice shaking. "Can I see that map?"

"Of course," she said. "Why don't you take this section, and I'll take Magical Theory?"

It was interesting, spending time with Hermione without Ron or Harry around. Watching her mind at work firsthand, instead of only hearing about it from his brother. They quickly discarded most of the books they found as useless, but within half an hour, they had a respectable stack growing next to them. He settled in to try to figure this out.

He was a bit distracted, though, and he glanced at the Divination shelves he'd shunned. Why had that bothered him so? Wouldn't it be good to find out he'd fixed this? And wasn't Hermione right, that if he found he hadn't, he might want to start figuring out what to do about it?

It wasn't that big a deal. Provided it didn't get worse, he could continue what he was doing long-term. He'd learned to live without an ear; he could learn to live without full control of his magic.

But what if he didn't see any future?

He shivered. That was ridiculous. Nobody died from magic dysfunction.

_No, but they die of other things_, said Fred-in-his-head helpfully, and George shushed him.

He didn't want to think of those other things. Such as Apparition or flying accidents, or lab accidents like the one that had killed Luna Lovegood's mother.

And he definitely didn't want to think of the surge of longing that rushed through him at the thought. He got a hold of himself and plunged into a Defence Against the Dark Arts text, looking for symptoms resembling his own.

_Magical dysfunction that manifests itself in sudden bursts of unexpectedly strong magic_

__

Magical drain: random lack of ability to do a spell previously mastered

_Magical dysfunction that occurs when a witch or wizard is under emotional stress._

Well, he was emotionally stressed, but the bursts happened somewhat randomly.

Ah, a section on what kinds of spell malfunctions indicated what kinds of things might cause them:

_Animal-controlling Spells - fear of the animal, or fear of animals in general_

__

Enlarging Spells - lack of magical power, usually chronic

Ordering Spells - lack of motivation to do housework

General Transfiguration Spells - lack of confidence in self

Emotional charms - emotional turmoil

_Potions - lack of attention_

"This is bloody fucking ridiculous and completely useless," he said abruptly, slamming the book closed and causing Hermione to jump a bit. He pushed away his parchment.

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione said.

"I'm not afraid of animals, nobody likes to clean, emotional turmoil is right but it's not just emotion charms that are going wrong, nobody ever accused us of 'lack of confidence', our magical power is fine-" he cut himself off because Hermione had that _look_ on her face. "All right, _my_ magical power is fine," he amended.

"Would you mind if I keep looking?" asked Hermione cautiously.

"All right, fine." He took a breath and closed his eyes briefly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to bark at you like that." He glanced at his watch. "Listen, I'm sure Ron's not exactly missing me right now, but I do have to get back to the shop some time. Thanks for... thanks for your help."

Hermione nodded, and they organized and shrank down the rather large stack of books they'd ended up putting aside before he set off back home.

He shouldn't have snapped at her like that. She was only trying to help. And she was certainly far easier to deal with than other people who wanted to "help" him, like Mum. Or Bill or Charlie. Not that bad to be around. Pretty in her own way, too. He could certainly see why Ron had fallen for her.

_Pretty. Hermione Granger. When I said that once, you nearly pissed yourself laughing. You are in serious need of some distraction, mate._

Would you like me to consider Angelina pretty, then?

If it was possible for a hallucinated voice to project sheepish silence, somehow Fred-in-his-head was doing just that right now.

George blew out his breath in irritation. What the hell was with him, anyway, all of a sudden noticing girls the way he was? He didn't have time for anything romantic these days, and nothing to offer anybody anyway. Besides... seriously? Angelina? Luna Lovegood? _Hermione Granger?_

_You need a girlfriend, mate. _

I don't need a girlfriend, Fred.

_Boyfriend, then._

Shut up, Fred.

_All right, then, someone you can talk to._

Why?

_It can be good to talk to somebody. Helps, sometimes, you know?_

Since when?

_Oi, I talked to Lee, you know._

Right. Now I know I'm imagining you. You and I were never ones for sharing our innermost thoughts with anyone.

_We never had to, George._

We went through some pretty shitty things.

_We had each other, though._

Yeah, well, so much for that.

**ooo000ooo**

_"Awake?" George yawned, shuffling into the kitchen around three in the morning and finding Fred at the table, a long-cold cup of tea by his side and a long piece of parchment in front of him with a dozen doodles marching down the margins._

__

"You all right?" asked Fred.

"Yeah," said George. "Couldn't sleep, though. Somebody probably woke me up."

"Sorry," said Fred, not sounding particularly sorry. "Had a thought for the Allentebber contract."

"You're working on that?"

"Yeah," said Fred, doodling on the parchment some more.

"Impressive," said George, examining the doodle. "Add a beard to Mrs. Allentebber's moustache. They'll be sure to give us the discount then."

Fred flicked a piece of Puff feed at him.

George went to get himself some warm milk. "Want any?"

"No thanks."

George stumbled a bit and stifled a curse.

"You all right?" said Fred.

"Yeah, just dizzy."

"When's your next appointment?"

"Next week, Mum," George muttered. "The Healer said there's not much she can do. Tonks is helping. It's getting better."

Fred shook his head. "I still don't want you going on the trip out to Harkness next week."

George set the milk bottle down with a thump. "What? It's my turn! You did the last mission."

"'Mnot the one who might fall off a broom, Lugless," said Fred. "Why don't you just sit back and let the uninjured do the rest of the dirty work in this war?"

"Uninjured, my arse," George retorted. "I'm not the one who has screaming nightmares, mate."

Fred's eyes went blank, and George kicked himself. "Think I'll go see if I can sleep a bit more," Fred said, standing up.

"Fred-"

"Night." Fred started out the door.

"Oi, Fred." Fred paused but didn't turn around. "You haven't finished the contract, you lazy sod. Turns out I'm knackered after all. I'll take your morning shift, yeah?"

Fred took a breath and then turned around, accepting the olive branch being held out to him. "All right, fine. Go to bed. God knows you need all the beauty sleep you can get, not that it helps at all."

_George chuckled and headed off, but reflected as he got back to bed that it would be really, really nice if he and Fred could deal with the ear thing like mature adults. He wished they could talk about how Fred was too overprotective of George since it happened, or talk about how George didn't want to be coddled or fussed over, and felt like he needed to prove himself. Or talk about _something, _anyway._

_It would also be completely foreign to them. Besides, denial and teasing each other had worked so far. With any luck, if his ear was the worst they had to deal with in this war, he'd say they were going to do all right. _

**ooo000ooo**

George wasn't getting better. If anything, he felt worse. The dreariness, the flirting with thoughts of nothingness, the emptiness, just seemed to get heavier. Like there was something dead inside him. Or at least something that wanted to be dead. Something sucking what little life he had left in him, and some days, keeping up the cheerful front for his friends and family and customers was more than he could take.

"Come out with me and Angelina," said Lee.

"Too busy," said George, and disappeared into his lab.

"You're too thin. Come to The Burrow for dinner," said Mum.

"Expecting a big shipment early tomorrow," said George.

The excuses were getting flimsier, and the expressions on the faces of his friends and family were getting old. And there wasn't much he could do about it, other than avoid them and work and bury himself in books. He was reading phenomenal amounts of material these days: practical stuff for the shop, occasional swipes at his magical dysfunction problem, and even just reading for fun. Hermione was impressed.

Even the shop was seeing less and less of him these days. The more the shop flourished, the more the bright colours strobed and the more customers came and went, the less they all saw George. He produced and tested a phenomenal amount of merchandise, magic dysfunction or not, but nobody had really spent any significant time with him in weeks.

And when they did see him...

"George, you have to do something about this," said Charlie, who had dropped in unannounced and uninvited - along with Percy, Ginny, Harry and Hermione, oh joy - telling George he was only in London for the weekend and was going to take his younger siblings out, no excuses brooked.

George nodded irately, peering at the puddled remains of twenty-three batches of Slush Puppies on the storage room floor. He looked up at the ceiling, which was still dripping and yelping sporadically. Marvellous.

"What were you trying to do?" asked Hermione,

"Package them," he said, rubbing at a bloody spot on his hand where a Slush Puppie had bitten him before dissolving. "I've been doing it by hand, but it's a bloody nuisance."

"You were trying to levitate them into the boxes?"

"Yeah. Won't be trying that one again." He glanced at Charlie. "I told you I was too busy to go anywhere, didn't I? This is why."

"You can get Verity and Naomi to finish up here," said Charlie.

"Absolutely, Mr. Weasley, it's no problem," said Verity. "I'll stay late and start brewing a replacement set."

"I can stay too, Mr. Weasley," Naomi chimed in. "It won't take more than a few minutes to clean up."

"Come on," said Charlie. "I told you, we're going out. I've made reservations."

"Where?"

Charlie hesitated a moment, then lifted his chin and announced, "At the London Dungeon."

They all gaped at him. "For all of us?" asked Ron, glancing over the group crowded into George's gloop-filled storage room. "There's seven of us, mate. That's going to be steep."

"D'you mean the Muggle amusement park?" asked Harry. "My cousin used to go there. You know about it?"

"Yeah, it's brilliant," said Ron. "Dad took each of us there for our tenth birthdays, but he couldn't afford to do it more than once. So Charlie started taking us when he started work at the dragon reserve."

"I promised I'd take all you little ones again, you and all your significant others, once the war was over, even though you're not so little any more," said Charlie. "D'you remember, Fred said he didn't believe me, and I was a lying tosser who'd try to worm his way out of it if we did win?" The others laughed, and George felt a stab in his chest. Charlie glanced at George. "Why don't we invite Angelina too? And Lee, too, if you'd like. I'm going to prove Fred wrong."

"Very funny, Charlie," said George. The others' laughter petered off.

"George." Charlie took a moment. "I'm not trying to be disrespectful. I just think we don't talk about Fred much. We don't do things that might have included him. Maybe we should. Maybe we shouldn't forget him."

"That's a marvellous idea, Charlie," said George. "Yeah, no really. And the moment I can talk about him without wanting to off myself, I'll be thrilled to join your little romps through Sibling Nostalgialand. Till then, though, you won't mind if I excuse myself? I have some cleaning to do."

"God, George," said Ginny. "He's only trying to help."

"Did you mean what you just said?" asked Hermione. "About-"

"Topping myself?" George rolled his eyes. "No, I just said that because I thought it would be terribly funny - you know, light-hearted and totally appropriate humour, so you'd all stop worrying about me and looking at me like I'm about to shatter. Did it work?"

Silence.

"S'ppose not. Well, I've got things to do, so if you don't mind-"

"George, we're only trying to help," said Charlie.

"Didn't ask for your help, did I?"

"You-"

"No, seriously. I didn't ask you to help me, did I? I'm not asking you to invite me out all the time. I dunno if you've noticed, but I don't invite any of you back to our - to _my_ place either. That's because you're not welcome there. Got it?" He glared at them all. "Ron works here. You lot don't. I don't want you here. I don't know how to make this any clearer."

He turned and went down to the cleaning supplies room, ignoring the fact that his family were all staring at him.

_George, what the fuck was that?_

Oh shut up, he told Fred-in-his-head. Shut up. Unless you want me to join you, bugger off and leave me alone. Your body already did it; do me a favour and let your voice do it too.


	4. St Mungo's

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much, crazybibliophile, Julumien, Aislyn Marie and silverbirch, for your wonderful reviews :)

**September**

_"I've told you, I don't care about that!"__ Fred's voice could be heard from the bottom of the stairs as Lee and George opened the door._

_"I do!" Angelina's furious voice could be heard from a mile away too, and George and Lee winced. "My parents don't want me with you, Fred! That's all there is to it. And I'm not going to against them just because they're wrong. I would, maybe, if you weren't being an idiot who's going to get himself killed, or if you were in love with me or asking me to marry you, but Merlin, Fred, you left school without even telling me!"_

_"Bloody hell, are you ever going to stop bringing that up?"_

_"NO! Go to hell!" A door opened, and slammed shut. George and Lee hastily stepped back as Angelina came storming down the stairs and pushed past them without a word. They shared a doubtful look and then heard a crash from the flat. George sighed and headed up the stairs._

_He was halfway up before Fred came out of the flat and started down the stairs. He went past George and Lee with only a grunt of acknowledgement and continued down towards the cellar._

_"You all right, mate?" said George as he went past._

_"Fine," Fred bit out. "Fucking fantastic. Also, single again. I'm going to get more larkspur for the Phillies. Don't go into the flat; I threw a rather expensive bottle of Veela Vodka against the wall. I'll clean it later, so we don't smell like a distillery."_

_George let him go._

_"Ouch," said Lee some moments later._

_"Yeah."_

_"Didn't see that one coming from a mile away like the Hogwarts Express with a troll riding on top of it."_

_"Utter and complete surprise to me, too."_

_"What now, then?" asked Lee._

_George looked at his watch. "__Eleven thirty__. The Hopping Hippogriff will be in full swing."_

_"And if he says he doesn't want to go?"_

_"He can only say that if we ask him," said George._

_"Are we going to Side-along him, then?"_

_"D'you have a better idea?"_

**ooo000ooo**

"Mum sent you, didn't she?" George said as soon as he opened the door.

Lee shook his head, smiling, though his heart sank a bit. Not the best way to start the visit. "Why? Can't a mate drop by to say hello?"

"Yeah. Of course." George smirked. "Nice timing, though."

Lee sighed, and entered the flat. Mrs. Weasley had said George seemed "distant" and "prickly", and there had been some sort of blow-up with his brother Charlie the other day, and he supposed he was now going to find out what all of that meant. He glanced about the flat, noting the books piled all over everything. The place was otherwise ridiculously clean and tidy, and Lee kicked himself for letting George's excuses keep him from visiting more often. George didn't want people near him, and Lee could understand that, but the flat looked like all he ever did was sleep and read here. No inventions, no magazines, no half-baked projects hanging off every shelf.

Nothing like when he and Fred had lived here together.

Once again he wished George had said yes when Lee had asked to move in. But the look on George's face, the barely suppressed panic at having someone other than Fred in their space, had disabused him of the idea almost immediately.

"Where are you getting all these books?" Lee asked, glancing at the closest pile. _When Magic Goes Wrong_, _The Adventures of Cassandra the Curious Cormorant_, _On Death and Dying_, and _Pickle Potions_. Interesting.

"Mostly Hermione. She Owls them out to me."

"You never did much reading before," said Lee. "Other than for developing Wheezes."

George shrugged, taking out two goblets and some Firewhisky. "D'you want a drink, or did Mum also tell you she thinks I'm drinking too much?"

Lee shrugged as well. "Yeah, she's probably worried. Didn't say anything about my drinking, though, so go ahead and pour."

George gave him a humourless smile and poured for both of them.

"So how are you?" said Lee, once they were sitting, glasses poured.

George shrugged again. "Well enough, I suppose. The shop's doing good business."

"I've heard."

"How's the Wireless treating you?"

Before Lee could stop himself, he was being drawn out into a long, detailed discussion about his radio contract, of all things. He had to admire George's talent in deflecting anything to do with him. He glanced at the spot on the living room wall where Fred had once thrown a bottle of Veela Vodka that had left a pungent odour of roses and seagulls in the place for weeks afterwards. From the vodka or from the cleaning solution, Lee had never remembered to ask.

"How's Megan?" George asked, startling Lee.

"Megan? Oh, gone. Last month."

George nodded, no reaction to not having heard from Lee in that long a time. "Rotten luck, mate."

"It wasn't going to go anywhere. She's from a pureblood family. They didn't want a Half-blood in-law."

George's eyebrows went up. "Still, now?"

"Yeah, still, now. You ought to know. Blood status matters."

"Never mattered to us," said George.

"I'm not that into girls anyway, you know that," said Lee. "What about you? Seeing anyone?"

George chuckled. "When would I?"

"Point. Still, don't you ever go out anywhere?"

"Nah, don't feel like it."

Lee glanced around the flat and briefly considered telling George it was deeply creepy to be in the home of a bloke who lived alone and had his place looking so spotless it made Lee itch to spill something in it.

No, probably not a good way to get him to let his guard down.

"The truth is, I do have a nefarious purpose for coming here," he admitted. "Remember how Monica from Eeylops quit and went to work for a Muggle who designs games? She says he's getting ready to market it to Muggles, and she wants to see if it could sell to wizards as well. You still have the Muggle corner in the shop, right?"

"Yeah."

"D'you want to test it? It's about building little cities and roads and things. No magic, just little tiles."

George's head tilted to the side, and his eyes lit up. "Really? No magic at all?"

"None. Oh and she wants to test whether anybody can put magic into it. Either to cheat at it, or to expand it for the wizarding market."

Percy had said that George was fine as long as you could get him doing something. "Let's sit and chat" was right out; "let's do something totally unrelated to talking" just might work.

And, good, excellent, George was relaxing and sitting forward, eager to see Monica's game. Please, let me not fuck this up, thought Lee, as he explained the game to George and set up the pieces, and they began to play.

Bless Percy, this had been a good idea, thought Lee as the game progressed and George started to get into it. Though it was odd, still, to do something like this without Fred here. Lee felt a sharp pang of loss as he suddenly got a very vivid image of Fred and George both bending their heads over the pieces, flicking the tiles at each other, maybe casting spells on them to make them change design.

It wasn't fair. Suddenly all Lee wanted was his friend back. The friend who would've made it impossible to actually help Monica, because the tiles would've ended up a congealed mess, most probably stuck to the table, and the players would've ended up with major hangovers the next morning. With Fred there, Lee's report to Monica would've been something along the lines of "my fellow testers agreed there aren't enough breasts and firm, rounded buttocks on the tiles, the monasteries should get plagues every so often, oh and they've rigged the city walls to randomly explode. Also, sorry about turning all the roads sparkling pink."

But those days were gone. Lee cleared his throat and brought his attention back to the table, where a bunch of small towns were taking shape, and concentrated on the game.

Much later, the last tile finally placed, he wrote down some of their observations and put away the tiles as George poured some more Firewhisky. Only their third goblets so far; the game had improved George's mood even without alcohol. Lee gazed at him, weighing his mood. Relaxed, as he hadn't been when Lee had come in. As he probably hadn't been when he was near his family, for a long, long time. Perhaps he should suggest board games to the Weasleys.

Here went nothing, then. This would either get George to open up, or completely shut down. "So, seriously, mate," said Lee. "How are you?"

"What d'you mean?"

"George, please," Lee said, and finished putting the tiles in their box.

"What, you think now, catching me off my guard, I'll let you in on how I'm doing? Dirty pool, mate."

"Want some more Firewhisky?"

"D'you want me to have more?"

"Would it help?"

"Dunno." George grinned. "Might."

Lee picked up his goblet and downed it in one go. He coughed. "Don't give me the same rubbish you give your family, mate."

George's eyes narrowed. "Don't _you_ give me the same rubbish they give me, then," he said, his smile becoming less friendly.

Lee blew out his breath. "Look, I just want to know, all right? You won't talk to them-"

"Trust me, they wouldn't like what I'd have to say."

"Why's that?"

George frowned at him. "Look, it's rough, and it's going to be rough, all right? Let it go."

Let it go, he said. Bugger this for a game of soldiers, they'd all been letting it go, and it hadn't done George any good. "Why wouldn't they want to hear that?"

"You tell me."

"This is like talking to a Sphinx, y'know," Lee groused, and George smirked at him.

"You never could weasel anything out of us, y'know."

"What is that, a point of pride for you?"

"Shouldn't it be? Besides, you're a journalist, right? If you want a story, you have to work for it."

"Then what can I do?" Lee asked, and dropped the easy banter. "George. Your mum's dead worried about you, and so's your sister, and I can see why. You've lost weight, you're a nasty bugger, and you're never far from a drink."

George drew up an eyebrow.

"Your mum's scary, George. Sorry, but you saw her with Bellatrix Lestrange. And your sister - I don't care what you say, I may be a Gryffindor but I've got a healthy respect for Weasley women and I'd really rather keep my bollocks where they are." He gave George a tentative smile. "I get the feeling if I let them down the Aurors'll never find my body."

"So avoid them," George said evenly. "Works like a charm for me."

Lee scowled. "I just want to know if I should be telling your mum she's off her nut or not! All right? I want to know if I can tell her you're fine, and know it's true, or if I'm going to lose the only best friend I've got left!"

George glared at Lee.

Lee closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself. "Look, it doesn't compare to what you lost. I know that. What you lost, I can't even imagine, and I knew you both better than anybody else including your own family. I was there, I saw what happened, I was with you right after, I want to help." He paused to steady his voice. "I need to know if you're thinking of topping yourself and I need you to be honest with me and not give me the shite you give your family - and it's fucking dirty pool but I'm asking you, for Fred's sake, to be honest with me."

George stared at him darkly.

"Think what Fred would want," Lee said quietly.

"I don't know and I don't care what Fred would want," George said softly, dangerously.

"You do know, and you care."

There was a long, long silence, and Lee waited on edge, trying to read George's expressionless face.

George sat back. "Right. You want to know." George laughed softly. "All right, then. I'm a fucking mess."

Lee swallowed hard. "How much of a mess?"

George stirred his drink, then moved his hand away and wandlessly made the swizzle stick dance in the twinkling light. Lee forced his eyes away from the mesmerizing display of amber light.

"How much of a mess?" he insisted.

George shrugged. "Enough of one."

"Your mum. Is she... should she be worried?"

Long silence.

"Yeah. Probably."

Longer silence, and Lee tried to feel his way through this. God, it was like walking through a minefield. _Help me, Fred_, he thought fervently. God, what would Fred have done? He cleared his throat. "Why?"

George shrugged.

"She's afraid you'll... hurt yourself."

"I know."

"Will you?"

George shrugged again.

Lee braced himself. "Have you thought about it?"

George nodded slowly.

"What do you think about?"

George shrugged again. "Dunno. Maybe about not having to... not having to miss him any more."

Lee let out a slow breath. "Anything else?"

"Like what?"

"Have you done anything about it?"

"What, ending it?" George said lightly. "I'm still here, right?"

"You're drinking a hell of a lot. You've shut everybody out." Lee floundered about, casting for his reporter voice. God, what a time to have his eloquence leave him. "What else have you done? Made any plans?"

"All the time. It's not a passing fancy."

"Like what plans?"

"Did you know I'm three floors up here?" George said lightly, and then he swallowed hard. "It's... I'm tired. So fucking tired." He rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin in his hands, and Lee was forcibly reminded of George and Fred trying to come to terms with their lifelong Quidditch ban. They'd been so bloody angry, full of impotent rage at the unfairness, and Lee would've given anything for that to be the case again. For there to be two identical faces, both sitting the same way, same set expressions in their eyes. Of course then they wouldn't be in this mess.

"Cry myself to sleep almost every night," George admitted softly. "It's... it's really hard, knowing it's been another day and there's not much to look forward to tomorrow. I've done it for one more day, but I don't want to wake up and do it all again. And I don't want to go to sleep, it doesn't help." He took a shaking breath and Lee shivered at the eerily soft tone of his voice. "I wake up from nightmares where he dies and it's not a relief when I wake up, y'know, because I dream about it a different way every time and it's really weird, you know, like I've got to figure out a more dramatic way because remember Percy found us and I'd just said 'I wonder where Fred ended up' and Percy was there and he was crying, and I could tell-" Lee shuddered, remembering how Percy's weeping had felt like a kick in the groin, how George's wand had fallen from his hand as his smile of recognition turned to open-mouthed shock without Percy having said a word.

George was still speaking, and Lee had lost the thread - "... like it wasn't dramatic enough, like I had to _see_ it, so I do, and then I wake up and I _know_ that's not how it happened but it's no better at all because even if he wasn't slashed to bits or blown up or AK'd he's just as dead, but you know, that's not the worst of them..." he trailed off, took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly.

"The worst is when I dream he's not dead. I'm going mental," he whispered. "He's _not_ dead, almost every other night, everything's all back to normal and then I wake up and I bloody well can't face it any more and the only thing that helps is getting so smashing drunk I can't remember what I've dreamed about and wake up spewing instead of crying - again." He took a deep breath. "I'm so fucked."

"What d'you do when you wake up?"

"Mostly just lie there till I can face the day, or take a few potions."

"Have you done anything?"

"Like what?"

"More than making plans?" George's startled eyes met his before he looked back down, and the swizzle stick began its dance again. "Have you?" Lee insisted, and held his breath, waiting for the answer.

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

George closed his eyes, seeming to shrink into himself.

"You've... what've you done? Have you hurt yourself? Made any serious attempt?" Lee could almost _feel_ Fred next to him, see the angry, scared look on his face, feel his need to somehow, _somehow_ reach through George's defences, past where nobody had gone.

"Yeah."

"What have you done?"

George met his eyes and then looked down. Slowly pushed his sleeve up a bit, then hesitated, then pushed it up further and whispered Finite Incantatem, and Lee's stomach turned over.

George's arm was an unholy mess.

Freckled skin faded away and exposed a mass of scar tissue, and Lee swallowed bile as George pushed the sleeve farther up and Lee saw that the scar tissue reached up to his elbow and beyond, and it looked rather creative - burns, small cuts, ragged gashes, sores, all sorts of things that Lee thought he was used to seeing, from back when Fred and George were hard at work inventing and producing. They'd sometimes been a bit of a mess during peak times at the shop, but this-

The testing lab. The fucking testing lab. Bloody hell.

Lee sucked in his breath as George pulled the sleeve back down over the cuts, and on instinct he reached out, grabbed George's other hand and pushed the sleeve up there - shit, same story, and he looked up at George's scared eyes.

"Is that all, or is that just the bit where you want to know if I'm going to bolt out of here?"

George frowned.

"Is there anything else?"

George looked away, tugging his hand from Lee's, and Lee shifted closer. "Did you bloody well hurt yourself anywhere else? Burn anything else? Take any poisons - fuck, why am I bothering to ask you, you and Fred used to do this for a lark, didn't you? To see how tough you were, what you could sell to other people-"

"Not much of a lark any more," George said quietly.

"No, it's not. And you two always worked together when you testing or making dangerous things. And you always healed anything that went wrong. You've... you don't let Ron into the testing lab, do you?"

George shook his head.

"And it's not just because you don't want him to try to replace Fred," Lee said, his mind whipping way ahead, seeing all the excuses George must have given Ron, and himself. "And it's not just because you don't want him to get suspicious wounds that the Ministry might come to investigate, and it's not because he's got shoddy Charms work. Is it? How many reasons have you made to keep him out of the lab?"

George shook his head again.

"Fuck!" said Lee. "You stupid wanker, you've always been pants at healing spells and I'll bet you good money that's another reason you've kept Ron out, isn't it? Because he's being taught healing at the Aurors? God, why am I even asking?" He swallowed. "Is there anything else?"

George shrugged. "It's not all from - some of it really is from testing products from before, I mean-"

"Like that makes any difference," Lee said angrily, and realized he wasn't going to be able to hold back the bile rising in his throat, not even wanting to imagine what else George's clothing was covering. He turned away barely in time to avoid spewing on George's shoes, keeping a shaking hand on George's as his stomach heaved over and over.

"God," he spat, shuddering. "Stupid bastard, how could you-" he retched again and George started to pull away.

"NO! You arse, don't you dare-" Lee heaved again, tightening his grip on George's arm. He spat again, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and sat up shakily. "FUCK. Don't you dare pull away. You showed me, you trusted me enough to let me know and don't you _dare_ bugger off now, just because I've gone and spewed on your floor. You've probably done worse, haven't you? Bled and spewed all over the place and then just spelled it away?"

George shrugged.

"Jesus, George. Oh Jesus, why the _hell_ didn't you tell anybody?" Lee pulled George close, shaking, and George stayed stiff in his arms while Lee tried to pull himself together. "Merlin, forget your mum and Ginny, _Fred_'ll come back from beyond and haunt me for the rest of my life if I let you pull away now."

George laughed, a shaky, uncertain sound, and Lee sat back, keeping a hand on him.

"George, you need help. Serious help, mate, we've got to get you to St. Mungo's or something." He gripped harder as George shook his head, and cursed himself as his voice broke. "I can't help you - I mean I'll go with you, I'll be there every bloody step of the way but I can't - I don't know what the hell I'm doing, mate, I'm just a stupid reporter, this is way beyond anything I can do. God, please, just-" and he wiped away the tears that were starting to spill from his eyes. "God, please, mate, forget your mum and the rest of your family. This is _you_ we're talking about, you need help so fucking badly it's a miracle you're still alive."

George hesitated, then nodded shakily.

"All right." Lee wiped at his mouth again. "God. Let's go. I'll Apparate us both-"

"No, I-"

"Right, we'll pack first-"

"No I don't want to-"

"I _know_ you don't want to! But you're not in any shape to decide anything! Merlin, you've got your mum worried that you're losing weight and feeling blue, when what you're actually doing is trying to commit Suicide By Joke Shop, George, for fuck's sake!"

George chuckled shakily. "OK."

"OK." Lee breathed again. "OK. Let's pack some stuff for you. I think, erm," Lee swallowed, waved his wand at the mess he'd made on the floor. "Ugh. All right, some changes of clothing. Anything else?"

George shrugged and moved off, and Lee felt an odd disconnect watching him automatically smooth down his sleeves and whisper a word to put the glamour back on, then look around his flat and pack a few changes of clothing, toothbrush, hairbrush-

"Should we call anyone in your family?" Lee asked.

George shuddered and shook his head.

"In case the hospital wants to know."

"Percy," George said after a moment.

"All right. I'll Owl him after we're there, all right?"

"I'm all right, Lee," George said quietly.

"No you're bloody well not."

George shrugged. "I am right now."

Lee shook his head. "Bloody hell, mate. This is just not on, d'you understand me? Not on at all. Let's go."

**ooo000ooo**

"He's just been being a bit careless," said Healer Radstone, the St. Mungo's psychiatrist. Psychiatrist, noted Arthur. Not Cheering Charms Specialist. "He's taken a few risks he shouldn't have. Unfortunately we've seen this rather a lot since the war; some people get a bit paranoid and over-cautious, others take things a bit too far in the other direction. It's good when they come in before it gets out of hand, like George did," he told them reassuringly. "You should be very proud of him. He's got a good support system, and he's got good insight into his own motivations and danger zones. He'll be fine."

"They were always invincible," said Molly, her voice thick with tears. "How could... they were always so strong, together."

"He's still strong," said Healer Radstone. "This has nothing to do with strength. There are many things he could have coped with; losing his twin just wasn't one of them."

"I should have separated them," said Molly. "Made them be more independent when they were growing up."

"We tried, Molly," said Arthur. "They wouldn't let us. When they were babies, they wouldn't sleep in separate cribs. When they were older, we couldn't take one anywhere without the other one."

"This isn't your fault, Mrs. Weasley," said the Healer gently. "And you won't help George any if you go in there with the attitude that you've done something wrong - or that he has. He's done the responsible thing, coming here."

"But... you won't even tell us why he had to come here. What happened?"

"He simply felt that he couldn't keep himself safe at home. His friend Lee helped him to see that coming in here might be beneficial."

"Why couldn't he come home? We'd take care of him-"

"Mrs. Weasley," Radstone broke in. "He's not a child. He doesn't need to be taken care of by his parents. He's a grown man."

"But what can you do that we can't?"

"We can give him a safe place to deal with his grief without feeling as though he has to be careful of anybody else's. No disrespect intended, Mrs. Weasley, but you are also suffering from Fred's loss. George either cannot, or feels he cannot, burden you with his own problems."

"It wouldn't be a burden-"

"Mrs. Weasley," the Healer broke in again, his tone becoming impatient. "I will not allow you to see him if you cannot accept that this is where he wants to be, and needs to be."

Molly swallowed. "Yes. Yes, of course." She cleared her throat. "When can we see him?"

Radstone hesitated. "I would like to suggest that Mr. Weasley come in first. Then you can come in, if it's all right with George."

"Of course," said Arthur, and Molly stared at him. "It'll only take a moment, Molly," he said. "We don't want to overwhelm him, right?"

Molly sat back.

"Come this way," said the Healer, and led Arthur down a short hallway, stopping at the third door on the left. "George?" the Healer said, knocking on the door, then pushed it open to reveal a small, cosy yellow and white room. George was on his single bed, a copy of The Prophet before him. He sat up as Arthur came in, looking at his father warily.

"George, thank God," said Arthur, and enfolded his son in a hug.

George hugged him back, hard. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said quietly.

Arthur shook his head. "It's all right, you've got nothing to be sorry about." He pulled back a bit, keeping an arm around George's shoulders. "Your mum's here." He paused. "We weren't sure - Healer Radstone and I - if you'd want her to come in."

George frowned. "Why?"

"She's having a difficult time understanding why you're here," he said. "She's not angry at you - far from it. But Healer Radstone wasn't sure it would be a good idea for her to come in. What with her probably wanting to ask you a million questions you might not feel like answering."

George scowled. "Dad, I'm not a complete invalid," he said stiffly. "I can take Mum's questions."

Arthur hesitated. "She'll also most probably ask you to come back to The Burrow."

George's eyes widened and he looked away, obviously trying not to visibly recoil.

"George, you don't have to," said Arthur. "I don't think you should. Unless you want to." George gave him a cautious glance. "It didn't do you any good to be cooped up with us right after the Battle. If this is where you need to be to feel better, I'm behind you. Muggles are very much into going into the hospital when they're having troubles like this, did you know?"

George gave him a small smile. "Yeah, Lee said something like that." He took a deep breath. "You don't mind? That I'm here?"

Arthur shook his head, his throat tight. "Do you want Mum here?"

George nodded.

"All right, then." Arthur stood, going to the door and gesturing to the Healer. Molly made her way into the room, her eyes overflowing as soon as she saw George.

"Georgie," she whispered, and took him into her arms.

**ooo000ooo**

_"You'll come visit tomorrow?" said Fred, his tone too casual to be casual. Though George was sure that if called on it, Fred would attribute the tone to all the hair that was supposed to be on his head growing out of his nose instead._

_"Yeah," said George. "Of course."_

_"Going to be dead boring here," Lee sympathized. "Weird that nobody's here overnight tonight. Every time I've stayed over, there's been at least three other kids here too."_

_"Ah, it'll give me time to be alone with my thoughts," said Fred with a barely-visible grin._

_"You gonna use your left hand or your right hand for that?" said Lee._

_"Weasley, Jordan, it's past time to clear off," Madam Pomfrey called from her desk. "Go on with you now."_

_George and Lee nodded and turned to go, but George stopped short of the door. "Oh, hang on - no, actually, go on ahead, Lee, I'll be right there, only we have to agree on what we're going to tell Mum."_

_Lee nodded and gave Fred a wave and then headed out._

_"You'll be all right?" George asked._

_"Yeah," said Fred cheerfully_

_I know you're scared, George wanted to say. I'd be scared. Neither of us has ever slept so far away from everybody else._

_But he couldn't. They were twelve. Any of their mates would piss themselves laughing if they suspected either Fred or George was scared of sleeping alone. _

_Besides, maybe Fred didn't mind._

_"Wish you could stay," said Fred. "It'll be deadly dull."_

_"I could ask," said George._

_"Nah, Lee'll be lonely. Go home."_

_"'Night, Fred."_

_This was different from George's stay at St. Mungo's at age five. Fred was seven years older than they had been. He would not spend the entire night shaking in terror at the strange sounds, at the wrongness of being in the dark without his twin. And George was not going to go home and then spend the night making everyone around him miserable until the staff agreed to let him stay at the hospital too, the way Fred had._

_They were big boys. They could handle a bit of discomfort. Besides, Pomfrey had said Fred would most likely be out tomorrow or the day after, depending on how long it took the potion to work._

_He pasted a smile on and ran to catch up with Lee._

**ooo000ooo**

Finally, finally, the visit was nearing an end. It was strange, thought George, how he used to love being with other people, especially his family. Now, a two hour visit with his parents had drained him completely.

Mum stood up as the mediwitch on duty tapped her watch. "So, tomorrow when we come-"

George felt a pang of alarm. "No, Mum it's all right. You don't need to visit every day."

"Oh don't worry, dear, it's no bother."

"By which I mean I'd really rather you don't."

Silence.

"Oh."

George winced at the hurt in his mother's voice. "Damn. Sorry, I'm - they've got me on all sorts of potions, I'm a bit off." He cleared his throat. "Another reason you probably shouldn't come visit too much."

"What are they giving you?"

George shrugged. "Things to make me want to eat again, help me sleep." Help me not want to drink.

"That's good, dear. That's good."

"I'm pretty tired, Mum. I'm glad you came, but... not too much all at once, yeah?"

"But everyone... everyone has asked to see you. Can they..."

"Mum, I don't know, I'm... I'd really rather not. I mean, if it's Percy or Ron, that's all right. But honestly, other than that, I'd really rather not. I'll see everyone when I get out."

"When will you get out?"

George shrugged. "I dunno, Mum. Whenever the Healers say it's a good idea." Can't make a guess about that, don't have a lot of experience being locked up in a mental ward, he thought, but had the good sense not to say out loud.

Molly nodded. "All right, dear. That's... that's something to look forward to then, all right?"

George nodded tiredly. Look forward to. Yes.

**ooo000ooo**

"You weren't intentionally hurting yourself, which is good," said the Healer Radstone at George's first session after being fully assessed. "You were doing what you have always done, at work at least, which is also good. I'm not calling this a case of self-harm."

George frowned. "Is that good or bad?"

"Well, self-harm is a serious thing. People do it for many reasons. For example, to stop the pain they feel inside by replacing it with pain they feel outside; or to feel as though they have some control over their lives, if only with respect to the pain they can cause themselves; or to punish themselves for perceived failures. All sorts of reasons, really."

George gave him a skeptical look.

"I don't think those reasons apply here. You simply continued to do what you have always done, but with less concern for health and safety than before."

"You mean... because we always almost killed ourselves in the lab as a regular part of our lives, I'm not a nutter? And that's a good thing?"

The psychiatrist pressed his lips together. "I wouldn't put it quite like that."

"I am a nutter, then."

Radstone rolled his eyes. "No, that isn't what I meant. What I meant is that it would be somewhat more concerning to me if you had gone from never hurting yourself, to doing so deliberately."

"All right. So having 'less concern for health and safety' is better, then?"

The psychiatrist looked rather uncomfortable. "I wouldn't say that, necessarily. You could have done yourself serious permanent damage." He paused, fidgeting with his quill. "Unfortunately, we'll both simply have to excuse my inexperience here; wizarding psychiatry is in its infancy, and a lot of what I'm working with comes from Muggle research and practice. Which does not, strictly speaking, always translate well into our world."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, the thing is, risk-taking and self-harm of this type in a Muggle would be cause for much alarm, as Muggles cannot heal as we do. That said, perhaps it's more alarming because you _could_ have healed yourself, and didn't."

"I'm not terribly good at Healing charms. And I'd already been here too many times."

"Yes, fair enough. Also, what you were doing was something fairly easy for you to justify to yourself as simply going about with daily business. If you were, say, cutting yourself, there would be no excuse for it, but the fact that testing products is part of your livelihood..." he sighed.

"You don't know what the hell to think, do you?"

Radstone pressed his lips together. "No. I don't."

"Are there any other wizard psychiatrists you could go to for a second opinion?"

"I am the only wizard currently practicing psychiatry," said Radstone with a thin smile. "So, no."

George nodded. "Marvellous."

**ooo000ooo**

It was good to not be in the shop. It was good to not have to deal with relatives dropping in on him randomly, and he'd insisted on a maximum of one visit per day. Ron and Percy had been all right; Mum, not so much. Plus apparently she was on a tear because it seemed quite a few people had suspected he'd been in trouble, but she hadn't seen it, and apparently it was their fault for not telling her.

And then The Prophet got in on it.

_Hogwarts Hero in Trouble?__ Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Surviving Owner Checks In to St. Mungo's!_

George groaned as he caught the headline at breakfast. It was on page three, so hopefully it wouldn't be read by everybody and their Kneazle, but still. That was going to make a bit of a dent in their business. He pushed away his breakfast and went back to bed, only to be wakened an hour later by an apologetic mediwitch saying that Verity had sent an urgent message: they needed to access the vault to buy more ingredients, since there had been a huge surge in customers.

Any publicity is good publicity, thought George bleakly. The idea of anyone buying his products because they thought he was a tragic nutcase was more than he could stomach, so he signed off on the Gringott's authorization, took another sleeping draught, and went off.

He woke up to see Lee at his bedside.

"Oh God, not another visit." He rolled over and covered his head with his pillow.

There was a silence. "I've been told that if you don't toss the visitor out of the room, it means you don't really want them to leave," said Lee.

George chuckled tiredly.

"So you don't want me to leave?"

"No, you may as well stay. Won't be much entertainment, though."

"No?"

"No. Too many sleeping potions."

They were silent.

"You saw the papers, yeah?" George asked, his voice muffled.

Lee groaned. "Yes." He hesitated. "Are you angry at me?"

This was so bizarre that George turned over in bed. "What?"

"For getting you to come here."

George blinked. "Merlin, Jordan, for a moment there I thought you'd gone to the papers. No, mate, of course I'm not angry at you. Don't be daft."

Lee let out his breath. "You all right?"

"Dunno." He turned over again. "Least I'm not flirting with death in the testing lab every day, yeah? Because in retrospect even I can recognize that dying of a botched Wheeze might be a little embarrassing. But I'm bored as hell."

"What are you doing?"

"Trying different potions. Charms. Talking with the psychiatrist."

"Any of it helping?"

"S'ppose so," he said listlessly. "'M on some potion, s'posed to be relaxing. If I get any more relaxed I'll be in a coma."

"How's the psychiatrist?"

"Decent bloke. Says apparently I miss Fred. So glad St. Mungo's has a psychiatrist now, or they'd never have been able to figure it out."

Lee chuckled.

"Merlin, c'n you picture Fred in a place like this?" George asked, his voice very low.

Lee shook his head. "Not unless you'd snuffed it instead of him."

George snorted. "He wouldn't have ended up here."

"You don't think so?"

"He would've been a lot better able to deal with it."

Lee shook his head. "I can't believe I'm actually telling you something you don't know about Fred, but you're wrong, mate. He was worried about you, scared pissless that you'd die, and leave him alone. I believe his words were, 'He'd be able to go on, I wouldn't.' He told me he knew what his Boggart would look like, and it wasn't Madam Pince's knickers any more."

"He told you that? When?"

"Yeah. After your ear. He talked to me a few times."

George blinked. "I knew that. Don't know how I knew that." He sighed. "I always thought he was a lot stronger than me."

"No, but apparently he was a lot wiser than you."

George shrugged.

"How's it going, in here? D'you feel any better?"

Ah, the question everyone wanted to know. Was he better. "I don't have to deal with the shop. That's nice."

"Are they making you eat?"

George grimaced. "Ugh, yeah."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?"

He didn't know what was supposed to make things better in here, though the potions and the sleep and the lack of responsibility were supposed to be 'refreshing' and 'healing'. And everyone was being cautious and supportive and that was also supposed to help, and he was going to hex somebody before much longer.

He needed to get out of here. He needed to just appreciate that he'd been able to rest for a while, get some steady, dreamless sleep, and solid food. He needed to stop hoping St. Mungo's would be able to help him feel like he used to, before. Stop hoping for something that wasn't going to happen and just be grateful for the respite he'd had, and go back to his life. No matter how buggered up that life was.

"I think... I think I'm going to ask to go home," he said.

Lee's eyebrows went up. "You're serious?"

"I've been here two weeks," he pointed out.

"And you feel you're better?" Lee said skeptically.

"Healer Radstone thinks I'm better. I think."

"Well, if he say it's all right, maybe you're right," Lee said slowly.

George nodded, reassuring himself. He'd tried. He'd given this a shot. And he did feel better. He _did_.

Half-dead was still half-alive, right? He supposed it would have to be enough.


	5. You Can't Go Home Again

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much, HPFanfictionFan, Mandy, crazybibliophile, PlasticSporkGreenThumbMyLife, deciesjo, and silverbirch, for your reviews :) :)

**October**

"All I'm asking for is to get out of the next two days, all right?" said Ron tiredly. "I'll make it up, I swear. I wouldn't ask, only-"

"I know, Weasley," said Auror Geffen, idly tapping his gold-nib quill against his inkpot. "You've been putting in longer hours at the shop while your brother's been... away."

Ron found himself biting his lip not to snap at the man. 'Away'; a polite word for 'locked up on the mental ward'. "Yeah."

"He's out, now, though, I heard," said Geffen.

Heard through the bloody Prophet, and Ron was some day going to torch their offices if there was any way he could make it look like an accident. "Yeah."

"He's been back for two days," said Geffen. "And yet you're still asking for time off? And your partner agrees with the request?"

"It's just while George is getting back on his feet," said Harry. "It's only been two days."

"I understand," said Geffen, leaning back in his chair. "We all understand it's been difficult for you all." Ron pressed his lips together and swore once more that if he ever found out who'd leaked the story to the paper he was going to use all that the Aurors had trained him in to make them pay. "I do understand that you want to be there for him. But-"

"Look, I'm just saying that I need-"

"Look, Weasley, if you don't want this job," said Geffen, "we can certainly get somebody else to fill it."

"You're firing me?" Ron said, his voice rising in disbelief. Beside him, Harry leaned forward, his hackles immediately rising, and for a brief moment Ron could practically hear him growl in protective anger.

Geffen shook his head, but leaned forward earnestly as well. "That's not what I meant. But we need you _here_, Ron. We're short-staffed as it is, and if this isn't going to be your top priority then you need to-"

"D'you know what?" Ron stood up, suddenly feeling perfectly calm. "You're right. It's not my top priority." He started to unbutton his Auror robes.

Geffen and Harry gaped at him.

"I beg your pardon?" Geffen finally said.

"It's not my top priority," said Ron, handing over the robe and Trainee badge he'd worked so hard to get. "It's not going to be, not for a long time, possibly not ever. If things aren't working out, I know which commitment I need to drop, and it's bloody well not my brother."

"Ron," Harry began.

"You're short-staffed among the Aurors?" Ron said to Geffen, ignoring Harry. "Well, guess what. We're a little short-staffed among the Weasley siblings; we kind of lost one seventh of our workforce, and it shows. And George is a bit short-staffed too, what with having lost one hundred per cent of his partners at the shop."

"Weasley," Geffen began, putting up a conciliatory hand, "you can't - you know how badly the wizarding world needs people like-"

"NO!" Ron slammed his hand down on Geffen's immaculate desk, suddenly furious, and Geffen and Harry jumped. "Don't you _dare_ try to guilt me into tossing over _family_ for your precious job! My family has given enough already! Go find yourself another poster-boy recruit. I quit."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the Geffen's office, Harry scrambling to get up and follow him.

"Ron, wait!"

"No. I'm done."

"You can't-"

"Yeah, I can."

Harry grabbed his arm, spinning him around. "All right, yeah you can," he said. "And you've got every right to, and you're probably right." Ron's eyebrows went up. "Mate, you know I'm behind you, no matter what you do, yeah?"

Ron let out his breath. "Yeah."

Harry nodded. "Only, let me... let me talk to him for you, all right?" He put up a hand as Ron opened his mouth. "_Not_ so he'll let you stay. I told you, I agree with you. If you really feel you need to quit so you can be there for George, I'm behind you all the way. Only don't burn your bridges."

Ron hesitated.

"You've wanted to be an Auror for a long time, Ron," Harry pointed out. "So what if you can't keep going in this training session? There'll be other sessions."

Ron thought for a moment and then nodded.

Harry gave him a smile. "All right then. I'll go talk to Geffen. I'll see you later?"

Ron nodded, and turned to go.

He had quit, he thought as he made his way out of the almost-deserted Ministry. Up and quit, no longer training, no longer going to see Harry every day, no longer going to study whenever he got a spare moment. No Illegal Potions exam to study for tomorrow. No Disguises class, no Restraining charms to recite in the loo and in the shower, no Non-Magical Combat to train for.

He checked his watch. Almost ten. George would be closing up soon. He went through the Floo and into Diagon Alley, slowing as his steps brought him closer to Wheezes, realizing he was none too sure how he was going to explain his presence here. Bracing himself, he stepped in, the noise and laughter of Wheezes warming him, and glanced around for George or Naomi.

"Mr. Weasley!" Naomi called out to him, and he turned to see her charming away a pair of donkey ears from a giggling child, to his mother's evident relief, and handing the mother a bag full of Ear-Ring Surprises. "I thought you were observing the night shift this week?"

"I was. How was business?"

"Busy. Got a group of tourists from Spain; apparently Wheezes are becoming famous in Madrid. They wanted to see our Paella Portkeys."

"Where's George?"

Naomi's smile faltered slightly. "He's... in the lab."

Ron frowned. "Is he all right?"

Naomi looked away. "It wasn't a bad day, mostly," she said quietly. "Only about an hour ago three kids came in and started using the Decoy Detonators, playing War. Re-enacting the Battle at Hogwarts."

Ron winced.

"They're kids, you know. Kids play war games. Mr. Weasley didn't get angry at them or anything, just told them they'd have to pay for any merchandise they used. And then two of them were pretending to be Death Eaters and 'killed' the one playing Auror, and..." she shook her head.

"What happened?"

"It was their mum," said Naomi. "Stepped in and told them off, asked how could they make a game of it, how would they feel if they'd lost one of them for real. And how could they play that _here_, of all places, where poor Mr. Weasley had lost his brother. Said it was an insult to both twins - and to all of you, and your parents - and Mr. Weasley tried to get her to stop, but she was relentless. Made them apologize to him. Even made the littlest one cry."

Ron groaned, picturing George's face at that.

"Mr. Weasley was all right; seemed to be, anyway. Stayed for an hour or so. Finally went into the lab a few minutes ago, but he wasn't looking so good."

Ron nodded worriedly, and headed towards the lab. He paused before the door, noting a distinct lack of explosions from the other side of it. He tapped on the door, and eased it open slowly.

"George?" Ron's eyes adjusted to the gloom and he sighed as he spotted George, at the work table, head buried in his arms, shoulders shaking.

"George." Ron sank down and put an arm around him, and rested his chin on George's shoulder. "No, come on, just let it out," he said quietly, as George tried to suppress his tears.

George made a noise in his throat and shook with sobs again. Ron held him, letting him cry until he couldn't any more, until all that were left were soft shuddering breaths, the calm after the storm.

This was bollocks, thought Ron, his own throat aching. George had been in the bloody hospital for weeks, and was still beyond miserable. Why couldn't they do something for him? Make this better, somehow? Sometimes it seemed like all the hospital had done was make him more fragile. The brother Ron had known never would've burst into tears over a stupid customer in the shop. Never would've let Ron see him cry.

The brother he'd known wasn't ever going to come back, Ron was starting to realize. He'd begun to suspect it not long after the Battle, but it was finally beginning to sink in. He wiped his own eyes, and sent his mind in another direction.

"You all right?" he said once George had been quiet for a while.

George shook his head. "Bad day," he said, his voice still muffled by his arms.

"Naomi told me about the kids playing Battle of Hogwarts."

George shook his head again. "Wasn't just them. Just a bad day in general."

"You're taking your Cheering Potions?"

George nodded, sitting up and wiping at his eyes, his chest still shuddering a bit. "They don't seem to do much good."

"You know they said at the hospital, it'll take time."

"Sod the bloody hospital," George muttered. "Useless tits."

Ron gave him a sympathetic clap on the back and then stood up. "Come on. It's almost closing, Naomi can handle the place. I'll make us some soup or something and get you to bed."

"No, I'm all right, only-"

"Shut it. You're not all right, neither am I, and I don't feel like arguing with you while you do your macho 'I can take care of myself' rubbish. I'm going to put you to bed and then I'm going to finish up the trollbogey potions, we're going to run out otherwise."

"That'll take hours."

"Let me worry about that, all right?"

"Hang on, aren't you supposed to be on night shift at the Ministry?"

"Will you bloody well shut up," Ron said irritably. "And let me do my fucking job. Eat the soup I make, go to bed, and let me _not_ worry about you for one bloody night. Oh bugger, I'm turning into Mum, this is depressing."

George chuckled, standing up. "You have a hero thing, do you?"

"I've been hanging around with Harry too long, mate. It's catching. You'd better watch yourself or you'll find yourself doing it too."

"Don't think so," said George glumly. "Can't even save myself."

Ron nodded wearily, and headed up the stairs.

"Ron." George opened the door to the flat. "Look, all right, I'll go to bed, but you need to get some sleep too. You can't go into class tomorrow, feeling like shit run over by a troll, and get all confused about which parchments to fill in for faulty-cauldron-sellers-"

Ron pushed past him and into the flat. "Look, I told you-"

"And if you get hurt in Non-Magical Combat because you were working here and not getting enough rest, Mum'll kill me."

Ron finally stopped and turned around, annoyed. "All right, yeah, about that. I sort of... quit the Aurors today."

George blinked. "What?"

Ron shrugged. "Wasn't working out. They only wanted me as a poster boy anyway. Present a good face to the public, show things are getting done."

"You quit? Seriously?"

Ron went to the pantry, looking for soup ingredients. "It was getting on my nerves."

George followed him slowly. "What happened?"

Ron cleared his throat. "Geffen told me I had to get my priorities straight. So I did."

George gaped at him. "Working _here?_ Instead of being an Auror? Why?"

Ron set his jaw. "Look, you're welcome to toss me out whenever you don't need me any more, I'll find another job. But right now, you need me."

"I can get somebody else to-"

"To help you stock, yeah. And follow directions and maybe help with the customers. You need more help than that, George."

George looked away.

"Even if everything was working just fine with you, you'd need somebody else here. Fred didn't just follow directions and he didn't just chat up the customers. He invented and he helped troubleshoot and he kept the books and did advertising and put in insanely long hours. I can't do most of what he did, but I can at least try to help. You need me, George."

George sighed.

"What?" said Ron.

"Why do you care?" George said softly. "You've got your own life to lead, you've got Hermione and Harry missing you, your Auror Training's suffered-"

Ron was suddenly right pissed. "Why the hell do you think I'm here, then? He was my brother too, you know!"

George's eyebrows went up. "I never said he wasn't."

"He didn't just fight for an end to Voldemort. He wanted a world where people could laugh. He died for this-" Ron swept his arm in a wide arc, taking in the shop. "We have to live for it. I can't bring him back, but I'll be damned if I stand by and watch what he built fall apart because you can't do the work of two people. I know I'm not him. But I'm doing this for him." He paused. "Besides, he'd never forgive me - or any of us - if anything happened to you."

**ooo000ooo**

_"Where do we start?" asked George, as the Gryffindor common room erupted into a buzz of fear and speculation._

_"Start what?" asked Percy, still staring at the Gryffindor common room's door, where McGonagall had just stepped out._

_"Looking for Ginny," said Fred._

_"What?" said Percy, turning to the twins. "Are you mad?"_

_"She's been taken by some bloody monster, Percy!" said Fred. "She's our responsibility; we have to try to find her!"_

_"McGonagall told us to stay here," said Percy firmly, his pale face flushing._

_"To hell with that," said George._

_"I'll go get the map," said Fred._

_"What map? Where are you going?" Percy said, stepping in front of them as they headed for the boys' dorm rooms. The common room grew quieter as the other students started to notice their conflict._

_"To our room," Fred said, pushing him away. Percy stepped in front of them again._

_"You are not going anywhere," he said. "We were told to stay in our Houses."_

_"Ron and Harry must know something, yeah?" said Fred to George, ignoring Percy.__ "That's why they disappeared."_

_"Yes, Ron and Harry disappeared," said Percy. "And that's also why there's a teacher outside our tower, guarding us, and teachers looking for them too. Taking valuable resources away from the search for Ginny. You cannot compound their error."_

_"Percy, drop the Prefect crap, and grow some balls!" said Fred. "She's your sister too! How can you stand there and-"_

_"I can stand here because I was told to!" Percy shot back. "Going off half-cocked and making more trouble is not bravery. It's foolishness." He paused. "Besides, we don't know that Harry and Ron went to look for her."_

_"What else would they be doing?"_

_Percy glared at them. "You think it's a joke, don't you? That Harry may be the Heir of Slytherin? What if he is? What if he's got both Ginny and Ron?"_

_George and Fred gaped at him, speechless for a moment._

_"Are you serious?" Fred finally asked._

_"He can talk to snakes. His behaviour has been very suspicious."_

_"Harry is not the enemy, you pompous prick!" said Fred furiously._

_"Shut your gob!" added George._

_"Sit down!" Percy said loudly, grabbing George's shoulder and pushing him towards the common room couches, and now the entire Gryffindor common room was frozen, watching the three of them._

_"We're supposed to be Gryffindors!" Fred shouted. "When there's something like this going on, we're supposed to go to battle, not sit safe and wait for other people to save us!"_

_"It's not a question of courage! It's a question of not making things worse, the way Ron and Harry may have done!"_

_"They're helping!"_

_"Because of them, there is a teacher who can't be out looking for Ginny, but has to stay here instead and guard us in case any of us get the brilliant idea to follow them. Guard you, I should say, because they know that I know better!"_

_"You'd just let our sister get killed because you're a Prefect-"_

_"SHUT UP!" shouted Percy. "I want to go look for her, do you think I don't? She's my sister too! And I'm a Prefect, I'm sure if I asked, they'd let me! But instead, I have to sit and babysit the two of you-"_

_"We don't need your fucking babysitting," said George. "And you bloody well can't make us-"_

_"You are going to stay here if I have to put you in a body bind," said Percy._

_"Oh yeah?" sneered Fred, and moved to take his wand out, but before he could even complete the move Percy made a quick movement and then there they were, both of them rooted to the spot, their hands bound behind them, their wands in Percy's hand._

_"PERCY! You fucking weasel, let us out!" yelled Fred, struggling._

_"NEWT-level Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Percy grimly, then performed a few more passes and put the twins behind a shield. He turned to the Quidditch team, Oliver and Katie and Angelina and Alicia all standing together and glaring at him. "And don't think for a moment I won't put a bind on the rest of you, too, if you make any move towards them!"_

_"Some day we won't be kids," said Fred angrily. "And nobody will be able to tell us to just sit still and wait. Some day, we'll be able to fight. Like Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon."_

_"Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon _died_, you idiot!" said Percy._

_"I'd rather do what's right and die young than die an old man who never did a bloody thing because he didn't have the guts!"_

_"What is it Dad says?" said George. "A coward dies a thousand deaths. The brave man only dies once."_

_"Quoting Dad's Muggle authors, George," said Percy, his lip curled into a sneer. "Good for you. Did Shakespeare say anything about an idiot who dies for nothing?"_

**November**

Luna was out of the hospital. She'd managed to get to Hogwarts in September, so George hadn't seen her while he was in, but then she'd received one scary Owl from her dad and gone back in about a week after George had left. She looked much better this time, though. She was planning on going back to school in January. Looking forward to it, even.

A half-dozen top Death Eaters were being tried for their crimes; the Malfoys were apparently all going to spend the rest of their days rotting in Azkaban; Teddy Lupin was crawling everywhere, much to Andromeda's delight, and Andromeda herself had been seen smiling and in the company of Kingsley Shacklebolt a few times. Hermione and Ron were in love, Harry and Ginny likewise, Percy had a new girlfriend, Angelina and Lee were not dating each other - though they were apparently not altogether single either, and George didn't care to figure out what that meant - Mum and Dad were doing all right, and the shop was booming. Bill and Fleur were making noises about starting a family, to Mum's eternal dewy-eyed joy.

All of which should've been great. Should've made George happy for his family and friends. None of it did.

Everybody else's happiness, cheering potions, all of the "positive self-talk" that he'd been taught in the hospital, and living in a bloody joke shop, just weren't enough.

"You don't look better at all," said Luna one day, and George blinked at her in astonishment. The protuberant eyes were fixing him in an unsettling gaze.

"I'm sleeping better," he said. "Gained back about half a stone. What's not better about that?"

"Your magic is still malfunctioning."

George shrugged. "That's life. You can't have everything."

Luna shook her head. "You're trying to put up a brave front because you don't want to worry your family. They'll worry about you a lot more if you don't really get better."

George blew out his breath. "Why don't we change the subject?"

Luna nodded. "All right. Are you up to doing a bit of investigating for me? Hermione said you're very good at it."

George chuckled. Funny how Luna could throw him off-balance, in a rather nice way. "She said that?"

"Yes, she said you're a voracious reader. I wonder how it is that Hermione can use words like that and not look silly."

George sniggered. "What do you need investigated?"

"I'm trying to put together a new edition of the paper. We've been off for a while now, and I thought we might want to get started again by investigating the existence of a supposedly mythical creature. But I want to do something new."

"Such as?"

"Daddy wants us to prove the existence of a creature nobody believes in."

George nodded, yeah, right, par for the course for Xenophilius.

"I've picked the Oily Ooliphaunt, but I want us to prove its _non_-existence."

George's eyebrows went up.

"We've never done that before. I've been talking to our regular contributors, but none of them have agreed to help us. Daddy feels it's because we were both in the hospital. Do you notice people treating you any differently?"

George blinked a few times, knocked off-balance as usual by Luna's forthrightness. He thought of Mum's worried smiles, of Verity and Naomi falling over themselves to make things easier for him at work. Of the witch that very morning who had smiled far too brightly at him after he finished explaining Eau de Poop Cologne, and said, "Thank you, Mr. Weasley. That was a good explanation." She had nudged her husband. "It's a very clever product, isn't it?"

Her husband had nodded earnestly. "You've got a fine shop here, Mr. Weasley," he'd said.

"Just a tad, yeah," said George.

"I don't notice any at all. I wonder if that's because they all thought I was mad as a hatter all along?"

George hid a smile. "Hard to say."

"In any case, it'll involve researching when and where the Ooliphaunt was first mentioned in the literature, and then trying to see whether it could be based on a distorted view of a real creature. It wouldn't require tramping about foreign lands. It would require tramping through a lot of libraries."

"I can do that," said George. No call for magic, no other people around, other than possibly Hermione, at Hogwarts. Although Hermione had nothing to do with him wanting to do this. The books were the attraction. Books, peace, and solitude. Nobody looking at him like he was about to shatter, nobody being overly gentle, overly soothing, overly cheerful.

"Do you have time?"

"Time enough."

"Are you actually working again? The Prophet said you might be barred from working again. But I didn't take that at face value, not coming from an unreliable source like that."

There was something mildly amusing about a girl with a string of Butterbeer corks around her neck and leeks hanging from her ears impugning the reliability of The Prophet. "Erm, no."

"Were you trying to kill yourself? With your own products?"

"No, not really," he said. "Just wasn't concerned enough with safety."

"And are you, now?"

George shrugged. "We've got wards in the testing room, to contact St. Mungo's if we're testing and something goes wrong."

"How do they work?"

"If we're testing on ourselves, we have to say the all-clear charm within two minutes or St. Mungo's gets dinged. If we're testing something not meant for humans - say, a charm that makes furniture invisible so people can trip on it - they ding after fifteen minutes with no counter-charm."

"Does it work?"

"Yeah, though I've dinged St. Mungo's twice without meaning to. Forgot to say the countercharm and got a lapful of angry Emergency Mediwizard for my trouble."

"I wish my mum had had that; it might have saved her life. I wasnt able to." Luna brushed past him and placed her books on the table. "I'm so glad you agreed to help. I brought the books I've found so far with me, in case you did. Shall we begin?"

George nodded at her, bemused, and had the oddest urge to tuck her long hair behind her leek earrings. He smiled at her instead, picked up a book, and started to read.

**ooo000ooo**

_"Isn't it a bit cold for going barefoot?" said Fred one day in the Great Hall._

_"What?" said George._

_"Loony Lovegood," Fred said, nodding towards her. "She's not wearing shoes. Hasn't worn them for the last three days. Before that she was wearing bedroom slippers."_

_"Maybe she thinks they're full of Nargles," said George._

_Fred shook his head, chewing on his lip as he gazed at Luna, who was waving her wand and gazing dreamily at the bubbles floating from its tip as her house mates gobbled down their dinners. "I think somebody took them."_

_"Several somebodies, actually," said Ginny, her lip curling in disgust._

_"Why?"_

_"Because they can.__ Because she's Loony Lovegood and always good for a laugh."_

_"So they steal her shoes?" George said. "Where's the fun in that?"_

_"Not just her shoes. Her books, her hair ribbons, whatever." Ginny gave him a half-grin. "You're a funny pair to disapprove. Didn't you steal Mathison's robes?"_

_"Did not.__ They were still on him."_

_"They were invisible to everyone but him. You sent him to class in his underwear, without him even realizing why everyone was laughing at him."_

_"Mathison's a colossal prat, and on the Inquisitorial Squad to boot," said Fred. "Loony's just... Loony."_

_"What does she do about it when it happens?" asked George._

_"Nothing.__ She says she doesn't mind," said Ginny. "And nobody helps her. The other Ravenclaws see her as an embarrassment."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yeah.__ Even Harry's precious little Cho laughed at her behind her back when we weren't at DA meetings."_

_Fred and George exchanged a look. 'Harry's precious little Cho' wasn't Harry's any more, if she ever had been - which seemed unlikely, considering the fact that dear Harry seemed about as clueless about women as Ron. In any case, the two weren't speaking. And they certainly weren't close enough to put that little sneer into Ginny's voice, considering the fact that she was dating somebody else._

_"And what about your precious Michael Corner?" asked Fred. "He's a Ravenclaw; does he join in the fun?"_

_"He's not my 'precious' anything," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "And he's not a bad bloke. No, he doesn't make fun of her, but he doesn't want to be targeted for defending her, either."_

_"Heart of a lion," said Fred._

_"What takes more courage: defending a girl who doesn't seem to mind what's happening with her things, or joining the DA?" asked Ginny._

_George nodded. "She does have a point, you know."_

_"Still.__ I don't like it," said Fred. "Somebody should do something about it." He chewed on his lip and thought for a moment. "In fact, I think somebody will."_

_George grinned. "Oh yeah? What will they do?"_

_"They will invent a hex that will give enormous boils to anyone who's holding on to Loony Lovegood's property without her permission."_

_"Ooh, nice," said George. "When are we going to do it, though? We're a little swamped right now."_

_Fred sniggered; 'swamped' was rather apt._

_"We'll have to do it before we..."_

_Fred nodded. "Yeah, obviously."_

_"So when will we have time?"_

_"No harm postponing it another week, if we can work on Loony's hex at the same time," said Fred._

_George nodded._

_"All right, here's the plan: if we can manage to get the frogs croaking instead of farting by the weekend, the next thing we'll do will be Luna's hex."_

_Luna. Not Loony. George smiled at Fred, and nodded._

_Ginny glanced between them and rolled her eyes. "I probably don't want to know what on earth you're planning, do I?"_

_Fred laughed. "Probably not."_

_"It'll be brilliant, though," said George. "We can tell you that much."_

_"I've no doubt. Well, I don't know if this is going to interfere with your plans, but I didn't come sit with you just to socialize. I have a request."_

_"What is it?"_

_"Harry needs to use the Floo."_

_George and Fred frowned. "Why doesn't he, then?"_

_"He wants to use one that won't be watched," said Ginny. "The only one like that is in Umbridge's office."_

_George and Fred gaped at her. "He wants to get in there?"_

_"Yeah.__ Are you game?"_

_"Getting him into Inquisitor Headquarters.__ You're serious."_

_"I told him you could help."_

_Fred and George looked at each other and then both broke into wide grins. "You know, as it happens, we probably can," said Fred._

_"It would have to be soon," said Ginny._

_"Well, we were working on a tight schedule anyway," said Fred. "We can be ready by...next weekend."_

_George shook his head. "Not sure we can do that. Not and manage Loony's hex at the same time."_

_"I think it has to be soon, for Harry," said Ginny._

_The twins glanced at each other and then at Loony, who was sitting and staring at her empty plate in rapt contentment. Then at Harry, who was sitting with Ron and Hermione and looking broodier than usual, even for him._

_They both nodded, coming to a decision. "We'll be ready next weekend. Tell him all he has to do is wait for our diversion."_

_Ginny grinned. "All right, I'll let him know." She stood up and practically skipped back to Harry._

_George nudged Fred. "You all right with not helping Loony?"_

_"She doesn't look like she needs anybody's help," Fred pointed out._

_"You want to, though."_

_"Yeah, I do."_

_George suddenly grinned. "Got a thing for her?"_

_"What?"_

_"Bit of a change from Angelina, yeah? Besides being the same age as our kid sister."_

_"I don't have a thing for - all right, maybe I do," said Fred. "Not that I'd do anything about it."_

_"Angelina would have your balls. Though bloody hell she's fickle about whether she wants them for herself or not."_

_Fred chuckled. His and Angelina's off-and-on (mostly off) got old sometimes, but Fred took it in stride. "Oi, I can admire from afar, can't I? It's not often you see complete lunacy in a relatively attractive package; people that barmy tend to look like Arabella Figg. Or Xenophilius."_

_"She'd probably drive even you mad, if you went for her."_

_"That's why it would be from afar, George. Can you imagine Loony Lovegood during sex? 'Don't use that lube; the Ministry's Magical Health Department makes it out of ground-up gnomes.'"_

_George laughed. "'What's that chirping sound you're making, Luna?' 'Oh, that's the mating call of the Hurdygrumble. Brings good luck during shagging.'"_

_Fred snorted. "And don't forget, 'Ooh, I'm so glad you're uncircumcised, just like a Muggle. They don't share our silly worries about Peenpoppies crawling in under their foreskins. It's too bad we do; Peenpoppies can create powerful Sex Magic.' "_

**ooo000ooo**

Teddy was busily toddling about, babbling a mile a minute, and Andromeda looked happy. Ted and Remus and Tonks weren't yet dead a year, and she was moving on.

"Such a big boy, aren't you?" Andromeda cooed to Teddy, who took two steps towards her and fell on his bum. He grinned up at her, squealing, and struggled to get back up. "Are you your Gran's big boy?"

George smiled as Teddy rushed headlong into Andromeda's arms. It was wonderful to see her finally getting out of the depression that she'd seemed to be in for so long. She laughed, a happy, carefree sound, and George couldn't believe the difference in her. She was finally, finally starting to live again. And it was probably due to Teddy, who seemed to live on the verge of laughter, despite the many mishaps that reminded George forcibly of Tonks.

Hope he didn't inherit her clumsiness, thought George, but couldn't bring himself to say.

"I certainly hope he didn't inherit Dora's clumsiness," said Andromeda, startling George. "Though I remember Ted thinking it was a blessing we weren't a Muggle family, when she was small. Said we would've had a time if we couldn't cast Reparo spells every other minute."

George smiled, and looked at Ted and Tonks waving from the mantelpiece. Tonks looked to be around twelve or so, still round-faced and boyish-looking. Behind them was another picture of her as a gap-toothed child. And another, this one of her and Remus, gazing at each other as a man in black read from a book behind them. Andromeda and Ted, standing behind Tonks, didn't look entirely pleased, but there could be no mistaking the love in their eyes as they gazed at their daughter's glowing face.

Ted and Remus and Tonks would've wanted Andromeda to move on, and find joy in her life again. The fact that she seemed able to do so was astonishing to George.

"Oh, George, I wanted to show you something," said Andromeda, standing up with Teddy in her arms. "Look what the Owl brought in yesterday!" She picked up a large envelope from the coffee table. "Remus' family finally contacted me. I think it was just to shut me up. They're not exactly welcoming; apparently the only member of the family who wasn't a complete idiot over the whole werewolf business was his mother." Her lips pressed together briefly. "His father felt guilty, and the rest were afraid. And unfortunately, his mother died when Remus was in his early twenties, so I had nobody who cared to help me raise Teddy here. Or even to help me teach him about who his father was." Andromeda rested her cheek against Teddy's blue curls briefly, and he squealed with delight again. "As though Teddy had any choice in having been born to a werewolf. Well, their loss."

"Yeah, I suppose so," said George.

"I'm glad to be able to count on the Order members, who knew Remus as an adult. But I had nothing to tell Teddy about him as a child. I've got pictures and letters and clothing and toys that belonged to Dora, and I've a full lifetime of memories of my husband, but nothing from Remus except a few books and your family's recollections. And Harry had a few pictures of him that he inherited from his parents. But then I got this!"

She tilted the envelope and a small bound book came out. "Can you believe it? It's all of Remus' childhood! His aunt said something lovely like, I was about to dump this, we've no earthly use for it, but maybe you can have it and see whether you want to show them to Remus' child. She signed it 'Cordially, Mary.'" Andromeda shook her head. "Charming woman."

George flipped through the photo album. There he was, Remus Lupin, age one, dirty faced and reaching for the camera. Age two, blond hair, cowlick, laughing eyes, riding a child's broomstick, with a slightly older child chasing him. Age four, at what looked like a birthday party. The hair a bit darker. Several photographs of him around age six or so, playing at a beach and in a forest, a stick in his hand and his mouth open as he waved the stick around, no doubt pretending it was a wand. Age eight, and all of a sudden the pictures showed a thinner, paler little boy, with shadows under his eyes, occasional scars on his face or arms. Standing apart in all group photographs, only his mother ever touching him in any of the pictures.

George's throat closed tight as he flipped through the fading photographs. This wasn't right. Remus Lupin had suffered so much, endured so much - the death of his friends, a lifetime of persecution, poverty, rejection, war - and now all that was left of him were a few faded photographs and the stories of people who had only vaguely known him. And a son who would never really know his father.

It wasn't fair. He was glad Andromeda seemed to think this album enough, but it wasn't. Not by a long shot. Fred had died at twenty, and left behind so much more than this.

**ooo000ooo**

_"I'm telling you, whichever Auror was covering the sixth floor corridor was asleep at his post," said Fred, handing Remus a Butterbeer and giving the map on the table a vague wave with his own bottle. "We got in with no problem at all." _

_"He hexed you as you were leaving," Remus pointed out, uncorking his bottle and neatly tossing the cork into the rubbish bin on the far side of the twin's kitchen. George raised an eyebrow, impressed at his accuracy._

_"We recovered quickly enough," said Fred. "The point is, we got in."_

_"You know," Remus said, sitting back, "we really would've appreciated you doing this with permission."_

_"What would be the point of that?" asked George. "Point is, you need someone else on that floor. One Auror can't guard it alone."_

_"They're being spread rather thin, you know."_

_"An Order member could do it," said Fred._

_"We're spread thin too," said Remus wryly, taking a swig from his bottle._

_"We'd do it."_

_Remus__ sighed and wiped his mouth. "I'm well aware that you want into the Order, boys. We all are. But your parents have been rather adamant about keeping you out."_

_"Bill and Charlie are in."_

_"Bill and Charlie are not barely eighteen," said Remus._

_"Bill and Charlie also didn't spend a year being told that even though they were of age, they couldn't join because they were still in school," Fred retorted._

_"We're out of school, now," said George._

_Remus__ laughed. "That's not exactly a point in your favour. Did you ever think that NEWTs might be useful for more than just Ministry jobs?"_

_"If you're going to tell us that NEWTs are a prerequisite for Order membership, you'll have to figure out some way of explaining Mundungus Fletcher, Professor," scoffed Fred. "Not to mention Mrs. Figg."_

_Remus__ shook his head. "It's not so much the fact that you left school, but how you left it. It was brilliant and it was daring, but the Order is not a lark and it is not a joke."_

_"We know that," said Fred. "We want in anyway."_

_Remus__ sighed again. "What is it with you youngsters being so eager to throw yourselves into harm's way?"_

_"You tell us," Fred shot back. "You were our age once."_

_"About a million years ago. Let's get back to your little escapade. Where were the other weak spots you found?"_

_"We're going to try again at the next meeting, you know," said Fred. "Mum's going to argue against us, again. You could help us."_

_"I can't, boys, you know that," said Remus. "Your mother has been very kind to me, and she has been worried sick about all of you. What kind of friend would I be if I put two more of her kids into the line of fire? Ron is friends with Harry, and Ginny was part of the DA, and Bill and Charlie have been working dangerous jobs ever since they left school; you two are the only ones she's _not_ worried about." There was a small pause, silently filled by Percy's name. "Now. Back to Hogwarts security?"_

_The twins looked at each other. All right, drop the topic for now. "This part of the wall was weakened a while ago," said George, pointing. "See where that Rune for 'nothing' is? It's five floors up, but you could fly into it, if you knew where it was."_

_"You need to make it broom-proof."_

_"That's hideously difficult," said Remus._

_"Not with our ShooBroom Security charms. Sold at cost to the Ministry, free of charge to the Order."_

_"You can't bribe your way in, you know," said Remus, amused._

_Fred smirked. "We can try."_

_"This next part of the castle isn't too bad," said George, "but it still leaves the entry next to the blushing bowtruckle open."_

_"The what?" said Remus, giving him a sharp look._

_"There's a secret entry into the school. Behind a portrait of a bowtruckle."_

_"How do you know about that? It's not on this map. Or any other map we use."_

_George and Fred exchanged a glance. It was on the Marauders' Map. The map Harry had never told the Order about, as far as they knew. "It was on a map we saw a long time ago," said Fred._

_Remus__ peered at them, then his eyes widened. "_You _gave it to him!"_

_"What?"_

_"The Marauders' Map!__ You gave it to Harry, didn't you?"_

_Fred and George gaped at him._

_"How the hell did you get it?" asked Remus._

_"How the hell did you know about it?" asked Fred._

_There was a silence of mutual mistrust. George and Fred broke first. "We nicked it from Filch's office," said Fred. "How did you know about it?"_

_"What was it doing there?"_

_"Confiscated.__ How did you know about it?"_

_"When did you take it from Filch?"_

_Fred and George crossed their arms. "How did you know about it?" George repeated._

_"I confiscated it from Harry."_

_They stared in dismay. "You're joking! When? Why?"_

_"Why?" Remus said, affronted. "We thought Sirius was out there, looking for him - we didn't know he'd never turned to Voldemort! When did you give it to Harry?"_

_"Probably just before you took it from him," said Fred. "Bugger-all, rotten luck for Harry."_

_"You gave it to him that year?" Remus said, aghast._

_Fred and George nodded. "He couldn't go to Hogsmeade, because of his stupid relatives-"_

_"Of course he couldn't! We were trying to keep him safe!"_

_"Keep him miserable, you mean!"_

_"Everybody else was out at Hogsmeade, having fun."_

_Remus__ shook his head and ran a hand through his hair in dismay. "Are you two deranged? That was incredibly irresponsible! How could you-"_

_"Oi, mate, hang on," Fred interrupted Remus. "How did Harry get it back?"_

_Remus__ stopped, suddenly looking sheepish._

_Fred grinned. "Come on. He has it, we know he does. He used it to see when it was all right for the DA to meet last year."_

_Remus__' eyes darted between the twins. "Erm."_

_George grinned. "Come on, Professor."_

_Remus__ let out his breath. "I gave it back to him. At the end of the year." Fred guffawed. "I knew he was in no danger from Sirius."_

_"He was still a student," said George. "You knew he was going to use it to get up to no good."_

_"I wasn't his professor any more," said Remus ruefully. "I'd quit already."_

_"So you didn't have any qualms about helping him to break the rules, now that you were no longer staff? And you're going on about us not being responsible?"_

_Remus__' mouth opened and then closed again._

_"How did you know how it worked, anyway? He didn't use it in front of you, did he?"_

_Remus__ hesitated._

_"Come on," said Fred._

_Remus__ sat back, regarding them seriously for a long moment. He cleared his throat. "I, erm, helped make it."_

_"What?"__ Fred and George said in unison. They gaped at him._

_"Moony!" said Fred, giving his forehead a slap. "You're Moony!"_

_Remus__ smiled. "The same."_

_"Blimey," said George._

_"That's... good God. You were one of the Marauders. That's mind-blowing, it is."_

_"Padfoot," said George. "That would've been... that was Sirius, wasn't it?"_

_Remus__ nodded. "The same."_

_"Merlin."_

_"Who were Prongs and Wormtail, then?" asked Fred._

_"You're clever boys; work it out."_

_"Would've been yours and Sirius' friends.__ James Potter, Prongs?" said George. Remus nodded._

_"And Peter Pettigrew was Wormtail," they said, in identical revolted tones._

_"Blimey," said Fred. "We gave it to Harry, and we didn't even know it was his by right."_

_"It was unbelievably irresponsible of you to give it to him that year, you know. Sirius was looking for him. You were giving him a way to get out of the one safe place he had."_

_Fred and George sniggered. "Look who's giving us lessons in responsibility," said Fred._

_"How did Filch end up with it?" said George._

_"I don't know," said Remus. "When we left school we left it to Margaret Ainsley."_

_"Never heard of her."_

_"Girl Sirius fancied. She planned to leave it to her little brother, she said."_

_"Well it was in a file that said confiscated from Elspeth Orleans," said Fred._

_Remus__ frowned. "That sounds familiar. I think..." he pondered the question. "I think the Ainsleys had cousins named __Orleans__." He shook his head. "This is another reason you shouldn't be in the Order. That kind of irresponsible-"_

_"We were, what, fifteen when we gave it to Harry?"_

_"Are you saying you've matured since then?"_

_The twins had to shake their heads._

_"Our dad nearly died in the last year," said Fred. "Our little brother's got scars down his arms from some weird brain thing at the Ministry, and our little sister was hurt, too. I don't know if we're any more responsible, but we do know what we're up against."_

_"Are you going to speak against us, over this?" asked George._

_Remus__ gazed at them for a long moment. "It would be a little hypocritical of me, wouldn't it?" He hesitated for a long, long moment. "Actually. I think I'll speak for you. We could use you both."_

_George barely suppressed a cheer._

_"It's not all fun and games, you know," said Remus. "You understand that, don't you?"_

_"Yeah.__ We understand."_

_"You understand that some day, you might have to make a choice like your mother had to do when your dad was hurt? To put a mission ahead of the safety of someone you love?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"You understand, you may lose people you love?" said Remus. George was suddenly struck by something. Remus' best friends, James and Sirius and Peter, had all died or been lost to him when he was barely older than him and Fred. What a bloody heartbreak, to lose your best friends so young._

_"Yeah.__ We understand."_

_"Then I'll speak for you. You may still not be allowed in, but it won't be because of me."_

**ooo000ooo**

"How are you, George?" asked Angelina. "It's so nice to see you back."

"Fine," said George.

"I wanted to see you, when you were in the hospital," she said, and George barely stopped a visible shudder. Because damn, that would have been hellish, him sitting there among Gilderoy Lockhart's fans and Neville Longbottom's parents, with Angelina. Angelina, who had played with him and Fred when they were unbeatable Beaters, seeing him in that pathetic place, doped up on various potions. Lee had been passable. Ron, bearable. Angelina? Not a chance.

"Thanks," he said. "I'm feeling better now."

"How's your magic? Still having trouble?"

"Yeah, sometimes," he said, turning away. "It's not a problem for a lot of our products, though it is a bit of a pain still needing Verity or Naomi to test everything I make."

It struck him, once again, that he and Fred had never needed help from anybody. They'd been the ones other people went to for help.

"You can't do any of it? What about your musical products? Those aren't very magic-intensive, are they?"

"Need two working ears to work with those." He paused. "Bit ironic, isn't it, that the blokes who invented Extendable Ears wound up with only the one usable ear between them?"

Angelina's look of hurt passed so quickly, he barely saw it. There was an awkward pause.

"You look like you're doing well," she said.

"Thanks." He paused. "How are you?"

"Oh, all right. It's been... an interesting few months."

There was another uncomfortable pause.

"D'you still miss him?" he said, and promptly wanted to kick himself at Angelina's startled expression.

"Miss him? Miss Fred?"

"Yeah."

She frowned at George. "Of course I do."

"All right, sorry. I didn't know."

Angelina took a deep breath. "I know I only went out with him for a few months. I thought about him for ages, though, before that." She gave a small laugh. "And I thought about him for ages afterwards."

"You didn't seem to. You broke up with him pretty fast, after we left school."

"He'd ditched me. You'd both ditched your friends."

"We didn't mean to," said George.

"I may not have been in love with him, but I thought of the two of you as close friends. It didn't feel wonderful to know that you two didn't share the sentiment."

"We did," said George.

"It wasn't the same. The two of you were your own world. The rest of us were distant seconds. I couldn't live like that."

George didn't know what to say.

Angelina looked down. "I miss him," she said softly. "I miss, most of all, what could have happened, if I hadn't been angry at him for that. If I'd... maybe I would've found that he didn't think of me as second best. Or maybe that he did. Or maybe... I don't know." She wiped away a tear.

George put a hand on her shoulder, heartily sorry he'd broached the subject, especially as tactlessly as he had. Although he had to admit, it was good to be the one comforting someone else for a change.

She stepped into his arms, and laid her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "You don't need this. Especially so soon after leaving the hospital."

"I don't mind," he said. He gave her a small smile. "To be honest, one of the hardest things about having gone to the hospital is how careful people are around me. Like they don't want to say the wrong thing, and send me right back."

Angelina nodded. "I can understand that." She looked like she was about to say something, then bit her lip.

George chuckled. "Like that. What were you going to say before you thought better of it?"

"It's nothing, it's stupid."

George blew out his breath. "Yeah. No doubt. Never mind, then."

"What?"

"Keep second-guessing yourself and eventually you'll get to where you think if you say 'Nice day, isn't it?' I'll collapse because Fred liked nice days too." He started to step away from her. "Spare me, please."

"All right, fine," said Angelina. "It's... being with you, it's confusing. In a way it feels almost as though Fred's not really gone, because you're still here. And I don't know how to say that in a way that won't make it sound like you're only a substitute for Fred. I don't mean it that way."

George's eyebrows went up.

"Oh Merlin that was a stupid thing to say, sorry," Angelina started to draw back, and George tightened his grip.

"No, don't. Thanks, actually." He took a deep breath. "I don't mind."

"I do wish I'd gone to see you. At the hospital, I mean."

George shuddered. "I don't. It wasn't bad in there, but I was out of it and it's all just a blur. And probably part of why you can talk to me is you _didn't_ see me there."

Angelina tilted her head to the side. "Wouldn't have changed how I see you," she said, and put her arms around him again. "You're still as handsome as ever."

He breathed in the scent of her hair, relaxing in her presence, and rubbed her back lightly.

"Mm, that feels nice," said Angelina, and closed her eyes.

This was something he'd missed, so much. Touching other people, having them relax with him, not having them treat him like an invalid. He rubbed Angelina's shoulder.

"That does feel nice."

He chuckled. "Ooh, tell me more."

Angelina laughed, and sighed. "It's been a lonely few months. It seems like everyone's so serious. You can keep doing that - you've got wonderful hands."

George nodded. "Not just everyone. The whole world is dead serious, everywhere. Bloody depressing." He smiled. "So, tell me some more about how good my hands feel."

Angelina laughed and then pulled away slightly. And suddenly the atmosphere felt changed, somehow, and they gazed at each other uncertainly. "It's funny, I never noticed how much like Fred you are," she said slowly.

"It was kind of hard to miss," said George.

"Or how different you were."

"That part's rather more noticeable now."

Angelina nodded. "I suppose so."

They gazed at each other, and George felt a flush rising in his cheeks. What exactly was going on here?

Then she slowly leaned in, and touched her lips to his. He closed his eyes and returned the kiss.

It was a little unsettling how quickly his body decided this was a _brilliant_ idea. He parted his lips, seeking out her tongue with his, seeking warmth and comfort and life and friendship and... and something else George had never felt before with Angelina. It felt good though - very good. It felt completely right, like he was a normal person, reaching out to a friend to see if they could have more than just friendship together. What he'd done with Katie Bell in fifth year, for a while, before deciding they really didn't work too well that way and parting mostly amicably.

It was as if this was perfectly normal between them. And yeah, okay, it might seem a little odd to somebody outside of this room, and would have seemed bizarre to him just a few minutes ago, but that really didn't matter. He caressed her face, enjoying the silky feel and the scent of oranges, the faint taste of sweets on her tongue...

It felt so normal. But it wasn't.

Bugger his stupid conscience, and bugger his common sense. He reluctantly ended their kiss, and sighed. He stepped back a bit. "Erm. I don't think this is a good idea."

Angelina dropped her eyes. "I. Oh God, you must think I'm some sort of sick-"

"No, not at all," said George.

"I don't - I know what I said, but I really didn't - _don't_ think of you as Fred."

George gave a small laugh. "I'm pretty well aware of that." He licked his lip, feeling the warmth of her still. "It's not that; it's only, this isn't a good idea."

"No, it's not."

George hesitated. "Felt pretty good, though, for a bit," he admitted.

She smiled at him. "Yeah, it did."

"Maybe someday? If we're both single and I've been away from a mental ward for more than a few weeks?"

Angelina sniggered. "You're such a hopeless romantic."

George shrugged. "What can I say."

She tilted her head to the side and hesitated briefly before asking. "That... that wasn't pity, just now, was it?"

George gave a small laugh. "I'm not sure what it was, but it wasn't pity."

"Then why?"

George looked away from her. "I don't know. I've never - you know me and Fred were different when it came to girls," he said. "He was the one who dated. I didn't."

"I know, I just thought it only that you hadn't found someone yet."

George shrugged. "I don't know."

"Erm, I should, I should go," said Angelina, glancing at her watch.

George reached out and took her hand in his. "Ange, what just happened, that didn't just... ruin everything, did it?"

"No! No, of course not," she said, her smile a little too bright.

George let go of her hand, stung by her insincere tone. "All right. Good. Thanks for dropping by, then."

Angelina bit her lip, then met his eyes. "No," she repeated more firmly. "No, it hasn't ruined everything. We've been friends since we were kids, one kiss shouldn't change that." She smiled at George hesitantly. "Should it?"

"No."

"I'll see you soon, George," said Angelina, and gave him a hug. He watched her walk out of the shop before heading for the lab, locking the door behind him. He pulled out one of the lab stools and sat, his elbows on the counter and his face in his hands.

_Oi__, George, what was that?_

Nothing. Shut up.

_You kissed Angelina._

I noticed. I was there.

_You never wanted her that way before._

I didn't want a lot of people before.

_Why now?_

I don't know.

_I mean, really. People you never thought of that way before._

I don't know!

_D'you__ think maybe you need someone? Maybe you're feeling all of this stuff for a reason._

Maybe.

_Why not pursue it, then?_

Because I'm a mental case who has conversations with his dead brother in his head. Not even Luna Lovegood deserves to have that kind of nuttery dropped onto her.

**ooo000ooo**

_The girls had gone to bed, and now it was just Fred, George and Lee at the table._

_"I still can't believe it," Fred said bitterly, idly making a bottle of Butterbeer dance before him, sporadic sparks of light emerging from its top._

_"Neither can I," said George, staring blackly at the dancing bottle. "You know Angelina's probably going to go into a killing rage, once the shock wears off."_

_"No she won't. She's too upset to kill us."_

_"Not us, mate. You."_

_Fred frowned. "Why do you care, anyway?"_

_George shrugged. "She's your girlfriend. And hey, after all the times you got me in trouble, I finally returned the favour."_

_"Shut up. Don't remind me. I wanted to split his snotty little face open myself."_

_"Took three of them to stop you, didn't it?"_

_"Yeah," Fred grinned._

_"Angelina's into that sort of thing, is she?" smirked Lee. "Restraints?"_

_"Shut up," said Fred, smiling slightly before resuming his brooding scowl. "This is bollocks, mate. This is purest shite. This place is rapidly getting unbearable."_

_"We've got til June. Then we're out, and we can do whatever the hell we want."_

_"I don't want to wait that long."_

_"What d'you mean?" asked Lee, and George was going to ask too, but Fred's expression stopped him._

_"Nothing."_

_"Come on, Fred. What d'you mean?" Lee insisted._

_"Nothing, I said," said Fred._

_Lee sat back. "Nothing you'll tell me, you mean."_

_"Let's go to bed," said Fred, getting up. They went upstairs, glaring at anybody who looked like they might dare come talk to them, and got ready for bed._

_It was odd, George thought. It didn't seem real that Umbridge had just taken away one of the main things in the school that gave them any kind of pleasure at all. Although, to be honest, punching Malfoy in the face had provided a great deal of pleasure too. Making that sneering, hateful mouth bleed. Stopping Malfoy's dripping scorn towards Mum and Dad with his fist. He rubbed his knuckles._

_Lee was snoring softly. George was finding it was impossible to do the same, what with the satisfying crunch against Malfoy's mouth, and the wide, toadlike smile on Umbridge's, playing themselves over and over in his memory like photographs._

_"George," whispered Fred, and climbed onto George's bed, sitting down cross-legged on it. "This is bollocks."_

_"Yeah, what can we do about it, though?"_

_"We can get the hell out of here. After all, why are we here, anyway?"_

_"Because Mum'll kill us if we're not."_

_"We're not going to get any NEWTs, you know."_

_George shrugged. "We don't need 'em. We're going to have a joke shop, right? What do we need NEWTs for?"_

_"So why are we still here? We've learned all we can learn from this place. Granted, Flitwick might still have some more useful secrets to share, but we're pretty good about doing our own research."_

_"And?"_

_"What do you say to not finishing the year?"_

_In the darkness, even though George could barely see the outline of Fred's cheek and the gleam of his eyes, he didn't need light to guess the expression on Fred's face. It was that look that spelled trouble, the look he had right before he convinced George to use Ron's Puffskein as a Quaffle, right before he decided to bring some of their sweets to the Dursley house when they got Harry for the Quidditch Cup, right before they nicked the Marauders' Map from Filch's office while Filch was standing right there._

_And George was going to say yes._

_"You're serious."_

_"Dead serious," Fred nodded._

_"What'll we do? Run away?"_

_"We're of age."_

_"If we run away from school, we'll never be allowed in the Order," George pointed out._

_"If we stay here, we'll never be any good to the Order."_

_"What'll we do? Go back to The Burrow?"_

_"You know that shop on Diagon? The shoe shop, Wizarding Toes?" George nodded. "It's going under. The old bloke wants to sell it."_

_"Hang on," said George. "We were only looking at that shop to see what kind of place we might want to set up in, after school, some day."_

_"Yeah.__ And we found that it was exactly what we would want: right on the Alley, good price, decent wards, storage down below, flat up above. Exactly what we need, and what we hope we can find once we were out of school."_

_"We don't have enough money."_

_"It's been on the market for two months. I think he could be persuaded to sell it cheaper if we get it sooner rather than later."_

_"We'd have to Owl the old man soon, if we were going to take it," mused George. "And we wouldn't be able to go to Hogsmeade any more. We'd need to spend all our time making product and doing as much Owl order as possible."_

_"And cleaning the place."_

_He was going to say yes, wasn't he? Because Fred's ideas were ridiculous, impossible, and insane, and yet George always went along with them. Folie a deux, and glorious insanity to boot._

_"It'd mean you couldn't buy that set of Quidditch robes for Angelina," George pointed out._

_"And you couldn't get Lee that Quick Notes Quill."_

_They glanced towards Lee's bed. "We couldn't tell him, either," said Fred. "Couldn't tell anyone."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Umbridge might overhear. Not to mention, what if it doesn't work?"_

_"Angelina'll do her nut if we just leave."_

_Fred shrugged. "She's always doing that. We'll post an Owl tomorrow? Work it out next Hogsmeade weekend?"_

_"It'll need a lot of work. You saw what it was like upstairs."_

_"It's not like we need to spend time studying."_

_"Or going to practice."_

_"Yeah?"_

_Of course he was going to say yes. There had never really been any doubt._

_George grinned. "Yeah."_


	6. Christmas Cheer

**November**

"Mrs. Weasley?"

Molly hurried to the fireplace, sitting down and peering at the face of a strange witch.

"Yes?"

"Are you George Weasley's mother?" asked the witch.

Molly caught her breath in alarm. "Yes! Is he all right?" she asked, leaning forward.

The witch pursed her lips together. "Would you come and get him, please? He's... in a bad way."

"Oh God-"

"Oh - I'm so sorry, I don't mean to alarm you. I'm Linda, the owner of the Leaping Lizard Pub. George is - he'll be all right. He's just been in a fight."

"A fight? With who?"

"Mrs. Weasley, if you could..." Linda gestured her towards the Floo.

Molly stepped through the Floo, finding herself in the entrance of a seedy pub. What the...

"Come this way, please," Linda gestured, leading Molly down a hallway. "He was drinking next to a band of Belgian wizards," she said. "I don't know, maybe they were talking too loudly, maybe they were breathing too deeply, who knows. Picked a fight with one of them, and then they all got into it - lucky thing I confiscate wands. Don't worry, I put everyone to sleep, standard spell in this place. I'm rather good at it; I've a few regular patrons who I sometimes think only ever come here to have a good nap."

They entered the main room, and Linda nodded towards a side table, where George was sleeping. "He's here rather a lot. I appreciate the steady business, but..." she trailed off.

"How often?" asked Molly.

"This is his third day in a row," said Linda.

"He said he was out with his friend Lee yesterday."

"Not unless Lee's invisible," Linda said dryly, and Molly winced. "As I said, he does this rather a lot."

"Does what?"

"Comes in, drinks by himself, usually picks a fight, then stumbles home."

Molly swallowed hard, gazing at her sleeping son.

"He... he needs help, Mrs. Weasley," said Linda. "He's going to do something stupid one of these days."

"Thank you," said Molly. She gazed at George's sleeping form for a moment, and brushed back his hair. He looked thin, still, having never been able to put back on all the weight he'd lost right after Fred's death.

She took a deep breath and then gently woke him up.

"Mum? What are you doing here?" he asked, groggy and fuzzy. He slowly sat up.

"I'm taking you home," she said. "Come on, now. Up we go. Close your eyes in the Floo, it'll feel better."

George blinked, then seemed to come to a decision and stood to follow her.

"D'you want some coffee?" she asked as they arrived at The Burrow.

"Yes, please," he said.

Molly got two cups and filled them, then brought them to the table.

"Thanks, Mum," he said, and they sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes while he drank his coffee, and she examined the rather impressive bruise on his right cheekbone.

"Thanks, Mum," he said again as he finished, and started to stand up, an excuse on his lips.

"Why did you say you were with Lee yesterday?" asked Molly.

George blew out his breath. "I didn't want to worry you."

"The witch at the pub said you come in all the time, but he's not with you. He's your best friend, why-"

"This is why I didn't want you to know. Because I knew you'd jump to conclusions. Look, so I don't want to spend every moment with my childhood friends any more. People grow up, Mum."

"The witch who owns the place says that you come in a lot."

"Yeah."

"And drink. A lot."

"Mum. Thanks for coming to get me. I am not drinking too much. I am not in any trouble. I am going to the psychiatrist and taking all my potions and I appreciate the trip home and the coffee, but now I have to go."

"You were passed out when I came to get you-" Molly began.

"Mum. Stop it."

"I'm worried about you."

George blew out his breath in annoyance. "All right, did you not notice I just spent a few weeks on the mental ward? That I walked into it, and stayed there, even though I didn't have to? Will you just trust that if I need to, I know where to get help? And stop shoving it down my throat every time I see you?" He paused. "Or would you like me to explain just why it is you don't see much of me any more?"

Molly blinked.

"Goodbye, Mum," said George firmly, and Apparated out.

_"Ron! Ronnie! What's the matter?" Mummy knelt down and tried to get Ronnie to say something intelligible, as George and Fred hid behind the couch, and George frantically tried to figure out how to fix Ronnie's stupid toy._

_"A mider? What's a mider, darling?" Mummy crooned, and Ronnie just grew redder and more frantic._

_George punched Fred in the arm, and Fred rolled his eyes. "It was an accident," Fred said, keeping his voice low. Not that he had to, with the racket Ronnie was making. "I didn't really mean to."_

_"Doesn't matter," said George. "If you don't turn it back before she sees it, we won't get pudding for a week!"_

_"She would never do that!" said Fred in dismay. "Not when it's raspberry crumble week!"_

_"She would!" said George. "Now turn it back!"_

_"I don't know how!" said Fred. "You turn it back!"_

_George was suddenly angrier than he had been in a really, really long time, so angry it was hard to see straight. They were going to lose out on pudding for a week, _again_, just like when Fred had tried to give the baby to the gnomes and just like when Fred made Mummy's hair turn into a dust-mop and just like when Fred hit Ronnie so he fell on his bum. And it wasn't fair; when Ronnie did something wrong, nobody blamed the baby. When Charlie said a bad word, Percy didn't get in trouble, _ever_. But when Fred messed up, suddenly it was George's fault too, and he was sick of it._

_"I hate you!" he yelled, and punched Fred, who looked startled for a moment before punching him back. There was a flurry of fists and kicks and elbows and-_

_"Boys!"_

_Suddenly Mummy was there, still holding a sobbing Ronnie, waving her wand at them to separate the twins and hold them apart, and George was angrier than he could remember being in a long, long time._

_He sniffled, and tasted something sharp in his mouth - he had a broken tooth! No - just a split lip. Fred had punched him so hard he'd split his lip, and it might never get better, and it would serve Fred right that they wouldn't look the same any more, and George wouldn't be blamed for Fred's being just plain bad to the bone, like stupid old Auntie Muriel always said. He tried to lunge at Fred again._

_"Stop that!" yelled Mummy, and flicked her wand at them. George felt all his limbs freeze, and pressed his lips together to avoid screaming. She was using the binding spell, and she hardly ever used that one, because it scared them. It was only for when they were so bad she couldn't figure out what to do with them. "You two are going to be good whether you want to or not while I deal with Ronnie!"_

_"His teddy bear's turned into a spider!" said Fred, his voice a bit shaky from the binding spell. "That's what he's crying about. It's behind the couch."_

_Mummy stared at him, then peered over the edge of the couch and sighed. She flicked her wand and used it to levitate the newly restored teddy bear. Ronnie buried his face in her shoulder, refusing to look at the teddy bear, and she gave Fred and George quelling looks as she took Ronnie off to the kitchen, no doubt planning on consoling him with sweets._

_The twins were silent._

_"I'm sorry," said Fred finally. "I didn't mean to-"_

_"I'm sorry we're twins!" said George. "It's not fair! Why do I have to be _your_ twin, anyway?"_

_Fred scowled at him and Mummy stepped between them. "All right, boys. Percy's got Ronnie interested in watching him play chess. Fred, you and I are going to have a bit of a talk. George," she waved her wand and he was free to move again. "Go to your room."_

_George stomped up to their room and slammed the door. He glared at the door and thought dark thoughts about Fred. It wasn't even his fault. Fred was the one who got tired of Ronnie. Fred was the one who teased him all the time. George did it too, but not nearly as much as Fred. Fred was the one who hit him when Mummy wasn't looking. Fred-_

_Mummy opened the door, walked across the room, and sat down on his bed, giving him a hug before even saying a word. He snuggled into her lap, having been sure she would begin by scolding him and not really caring what made her hug him instead._

_She stroked his hair for a while, then cleared her throat and tilted his chin up so he could look at her. "Georgie. I know it's hard sometimes, being a twin." He blinked. "Especially Fred's twin. But it's also wonderful, and you know that, don't you?" She smiled at him. "You know how much Ronnie wishes he had a twin, don't you? And Percy does, too. You always have somebody to play with."_

_George scowled. "Bill and Charlie are always playing together too, but you don't blame Bill when Charlie does something wrong!"_

_"They didn't always play together," said Mummy. "When they were smaller, Billy would just boss Charlie around. And then sometimes Charlie would hit him. Or spit on him."_

_George chuckled, wincing at his split lip._

_Mummy took out her wand again. "I know sometimes it's hard, Georgie." She healed his lip, and ruffled his hair. "I'll tell you what. Just this one time, I won't take away your raspberry crumble. Fred told me you didn't do anything. He said you should have his raspberry crumble."_

_"He said that?" said George._

_"Yes, he did. Do you want to go back downstairs now?"_

_George scowled. "No."_

_"All right, then. You play up here, and I'll tell Freddie. I think he's a little worried that you're still angry at him."_

_"I am! He's always getting me into trouble!"_

_Mummy's eyes crinkled with laughter. "I don't think you're completely innocent all the time, George. Only sometimes. Why don't you stay up here and play, and when you're ready, you can come back downstairs."_

_George nodded and looked around the room after Mummy left. He could play chess, he supposed. Fred thought chess was stupid. Or he could read, though Fred didn't think much of that either unless it was Marvin the Mad Muggle comics, and George had read all of those._

_He could go into Percy's room and get a book from him. Percy didn't let the twins into his room, but he was busy with Ronnie right now..._

_Fifteen minutes later, Percy's room pilfered of two books that hadn't been as interesting as their covers made them seem, he got bored and went back downstairs._

_Fred's cheek had a barely healing mark on it, and George felt kind of bad for having put it there. But it was nice that Fred was looking sorry too. Probably watching Percy try to teach Ronnie about chess was about as exciting as staring at a wall._

_"D'you want to go fly the kite?" Fred asked hesitantly, and George nodded. Fred grinned. "Let's go!"_

George was beginning to actively dread the coming Christmas season. If it consisted of dinners like this one, he was in serious trouble. Seeing his entire family, everyone talking and trying to 'heal' and reminiscing and prying into his business, and it was enough to make him ardently desire a hole to crawl into and never come out of.

Because what could he say? Life consisted of work work work, eat, sleep, check in with the St. Mungo's psychiatrist once a week, give him some rot about, "Yes I'm eating and sleeping, no nightmares, seeing family regularly, not testing alone in the lab any more," and yet it felt like it was all piling up again. Like St. Mungo's might be something he might want to try again. If not now, definitely once Christmas got into full swing.

Come to think of it, that might be a way to get through. Christmas on the Closed Ward might not be that bad an idea.

_Didn't feel much better after going there though, did you?_

No.

_This sucks, George. This really, really sucks._

Shut it. I'm not being careless in the lab. I'm not alone all the time.

_You have a schedule that you follow. You have everybody's name on it: Mum once a week, Bill and Percy every other Wednesday, Ginny every other weekend. You've got a pile of chirpy little notes you wrote to Ginny and you put one in the mail every week and you have to check to make sure they make sense and you don't tell her you were shovelling snow in the middle of summer._

What the fuck is your problem?

_This isn't living, Georgie. This is making the motions of living._

What the hell else am I supposed to do?

He glanced at his watch. Only thirty minutes since he'd arrived at The Burrow; it felt like at least two hours. He hadn't wanted to come - never wanted to come, to be frank - but Bill and Fleur and Ginny and Percy were all going to be there, and he couldn't pass up the opportunity to kill several birds with one stone and see them all, so he could have at least a few weeks free of everyone but Mum.

But it only underscored the hell that December was bound to be. There wasn't any way he could get out of Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas morning lunch and Christmas dinner and Boxing Day and oh, God. Charlie would probably be back from Romania...

_Dearest Father Christmas, for my gift this year I would like to have my dead brother back. Failing that, I would like my dead brother to stop being a pain in the arse. Failing that, I would like my entire family to just go into a box or something. _

Fleur, looking radiant as always, was laughing and glowingly pregnant. She had also brought guests to dinner.

"George, I'd like you to meet Pauline," said Mum, as a youngish witch stepped through her Floo. "She's Fleur's prenatal care Healer. Is your husband coming, dear?" she asked, and Pauline nodded as the Floo flared again and a young wizard came through. "Donald, how wonderful to have you here. George, this is Donald Adams, my counsellor. Isn't it a small world?"

"Thank you for inviting me," said Pauline in softly accented English, and smiled brightly at Fleur as she came forward. They hugged and began speaking in rapid-fire French, to Mum's annoyance.

George blew out his breath as Mum and Fleur led the couple into the dining room. "A counsellor," he muttered to Bill. "She invited a counsellor to supper. How subtle."

"Actually, I went to see him when I was bitten," said Bill. "And then again after Fred. He's a good bloke. He's helped Mum a lot." He paused. "What's the harm in getting to know him?"

"I'm already talking to a counsellor. Psychiatrist. Whatever."

"Mum thinks maybe Muggle psychiatry doesn't work with wizards. Doesn't seem to be doing wonders for you."

"Maybe Healer Radstone's just not a very good psychiatrist."

"Why don't you keep an open mind? You might find Donald can help you." Bill hesitated briefly. "Fred wouldn't have wanted you to still be so unhappy, George."

"Really." George stared at him flatly. "I am ever so glad you told me that, Bill. Because, you know, I've been getting awfully tired of this whole mourning routine, but I just kept telling myself that's what Fred would've wanted, obviously, seeing as how he hated to see people having fun. I was so sure the last thing he thought was 'I certainly hope nobody ever gets over my death, and for serious, they'd all better mourn me till the day they die.' I'm so glad you've set me right."

"George-"

"Sod off."

"Are you drunk already?"

"No, this is all just my own cheerful, irrepressible, fun-loving self." He stalked out of the room and headed for Dad's shed.

It was getting hard. He was usually better at it than this, but Angelina's visit had thrown him for a bit of a loop, and then Fleur and Bill announcing their little surprise, a baby who would be born within a year of Fred's death, was... he shouldn't have come today. This was why he avoided his family whenever humanly possible. He took a deep breath, trying to relax in the dusty quiet of Dad's Muggle contraptions.

"All right, it's time to eat," Mum called out, far too soon, and he headed glumly back to the house.

"No, Donald doesn't do Muggle psychiatry," Mum was telling Percy as they all sat down to Mum's Plimpy stew. "He does Muggle _counselling_ though. He's had a lot more success."

"What's the difference?" asked Bill.

"No medicines, and far less theory," said Donald.

"You've been busy since the war, I take it?" said Percy.

"We were fairly busy before the war as well, I'm told," said Donald.

"Were you not working then?"

"I'm Muggle-born," said Donald, shaking his head, and took a helping of stew. "I wanted to help, but had to go stay with Pauline's family instead. We only came back about five months ago."

"I would imagine you'd be one of the busier departments right now," said Bill.

"Yeah. Not as busy as the Dementor-Kissed ward, though. What they're doing there is amazing. And the people working with memory charms, that's fascinating work as well. I was doing some work for them for a while, helping people who were damaged during the war. You'd be surprised at how many Muggle-borns wiped their families' memories, to protect them. Didn't always work out as planned."

"You worked with Hermione, didn't you?" asked Ron, took a spoonful of stew, and a brief look of surprise crossed his face. He swallowed. "For her parents?" He took a sip of water.

"Yes, peripherally. She was very talented, though. Didn't really need our help. It's a pity she's not going into Healing. She would be wonderful."

Ron looked proud.

"And of course, there's grief counselling. Not something I ever wanted to learn so much about, but there you go."

George drained his goblet again, washing down the unexpectedly salty taste of Mum's stew. Oh for the days when Mum's cooking was uniformly excellent.

"George, slow down," said Percy worriedly.

"Shut it," said George, and he hadn't meant for that to be as loud as it had come out.

"He's only-" began Ron.

"You shut it too," said George, and now Mum had heard. She traded a look with Donald.

"'Scuse me," said George, and got up. "Washroom. No, please, don't stop on my account. Feel free to continue this gripping topic - and hey, if you want to talk about me behind my back, now's the time for that, too." He stalked out.

_George, you're not well._

Shut up, Fred.

_Were you like this before I snuffed it?_

All the time. You were the voice of sweetness and light around here, 'member?

_Why are you being such a prick to them?_

So they'll leave me the hell alone.

_It's your family, mate. The people who love you the most._

Shut up.

_Besides, what'll you do if they do leave you alone?_

Have loads more time to talk to you. You're the life of the party here, you are.

_You've been drinking._

You always were perceptive.

_You shouldn't drink so much._

So you're who Mum and Percy have been channeling. Wonderful. You died and became my conscience.

_Think I've been promoted to my level of incompetence._

Says who?

_You're piss-drunk for the third time this week, and you've basically just told our family to go fuck themselves and stalked away from the dinner table._

Maybe I should fire you.

_Maybe._

Problem is, I don't have any other dead relatives to act as my conscience. There's Uncle Bilius, but...

_Uncle Bilius isn't someone to emulate, George._

Shut. Up.

George leaned against the washroom sink for a few moments and then sighed. Time to go back. He splashed water onto his face, dried it, and made his way back downstairs.

And oh, joy, Donald the Healer was still talking about his bloody job, and the number of people who had started counselling since the war, and the way that St. Mungo's had scrambled to fill the need, as the wizarding world finally got the idea that Cheering charms weren't going to be enough, and let go of their anti-Muggle-medicine bias, and tried to enlist Healers and counsellors from other countries to fill the need...

George idly poked at his distasteful meal and listened, bored. He finally interrupted. "All right, then, how long does it last?" he said impatiently.

"Does what last?"

"Grieving. How long does it take?"

Donald gave him a calm look. "I can't really give you a firm answer-"

George was already rolling his eyes and turning away.

"-it rather depends on what you mean. There's different levels of grief."

"All right, then, how long before life seems worth living, then?" Mum gave a small gasp, and George turned away from her.

"Do you think it's not worth living right now?" asked Donald.

"I think I asked a question first," he shot back.

"I'd like to answer, but can't really do so without more information. Do you think that life's not worth living?"

"Oh, in between feeling like shite all the time and spending almost every waking hour with a lot of people who all seem to be feeling the same, it's not exactly a barrel of laughs, is it?"

"George, are you drunk?" Percy said quietly.

George gave him a contemptuous glare. "I wasn't even talking to you. I was talking to him, and I can't help noticing that he has yet to answer."

"I can't really give you an answer," said Donald. "And I don't think you're expecting one anyway."

George laughed. "You don't?"

"No, I don't. I don't think you have any illusions that I'll give you a figure you can hold me to."

George shook his head and crossed his arms, a grim smile on his face. "Really. Oh, do go on, this is fascinating. Why did I ask you, then?"

"I think you just want a confrontation and you're tired of your family trying to help you." Donald sighed. "Of course, I've been known to be dead wrong before, so just in case you are looking for a figure, I have to say it depends."

George's eyebrows had risen slightly at Donald's admission, and they now came down as he smirked cynically. "What a shock."

"It depends on a lot of things. The strength of the bond to the person who died, the suddenness of their death, whether or not there was a chance to say goodbye." George was now looking intently at Donald, who met his gaze unflinchingly. "The strength of ties to other people, both those who knew the deceased and those who didn't. The other support systems in place, general mental health pre-loss, all sorts of things. I'd say, from what I've heard of your particular... _case_," he said deliberately, and George's mouth quirked in a tiny half-smile, "you're facing a long, dark time. And it won't be a steady road, either. There'll be times, weeks on end, where everything will seem normal and then something will remind you, and you'll feel like you're right back where you started. And all you'll have to hold on to is the fact that those times will become less painful, eventually, and less frequent. The loss will never go away, but life does eventually become worth living."

George was silent, gazing thoughtfully at Donald. "That's not terribly comforting."

"I don't think you're looking for comfort," said Donald. "I think you're looking for information. I think you need somebody to help by not pushing you. Then again, I may be wrong there, too; it's been known to happen." He took a bite of his stew and shrugged. "All I can say is that I can try to help. I can't make this go away, and I don't think you'd want me to. The grief you're feeling is just part of life. The death of a loved one is the hardest thing we have to face. It's not easy for anybody. Least of all for someone as close to the deceased as you were to your twin."

George looked away from him, frowning.

"I'm sorry I can't be of more help," Donald said.

"No, that's all right," George said. He turned back to Donald. "Thanks anyway."

"No problem."

"Well, pudding anyone?" Donald said, and the rest of the family gaped at him.

George chuckled. "Yeah, Mum, pudding?"

"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course. Fleur, would you help me bring it in, please, dear?"

"The offer still stands," Donald said in a low voice as Mum and Fleur brought in raspberry crumble. "Nobody's going to make you talk to me in private. I think it would be a good idea, but then I don't know you terribly well."

George nodded thoughtfully and dug in to his raspberry crumble.

_Fred's eyes were haunted in his pale face as Fleur helped Bill to stand and they slowly walked back to the school after Dumbledore's service. George swallowed hard at the look of horror on the faces of some of the other mourners as they laid eyes on their eldest brother._

_George gazed at the crowd, at the white tomb, at Bill and Fleur. He and Fred shared the blame here. _Their_ Darkness Powder had helped Malfoy and the Death Eaters get into Hogwarts, left Bill's face a terrifying mess, and killed Dumbledore. He still felt sick at the thought._

_And it still seemed impossible to truly comprehend that Dumbledore was really dead and gone, or that their own family had been touched once again by the evil they'd been fighting since before Fred and George had even been born. Uncles Gideon and Fabian dead, Ginny possessed, Dad bitten, Ron and Ginny hurt at the Department of Mysteries, Ron poisoned, and now Bill's face mauled._

_"We would never have sold it directly to Draco Malfoy," said Fred quietly as Ron and Hermione came back from the lake and sat down next to Fred and George. "He must've had someone come in and do it for him."_

_"It won't happen again. We'll find some way to prevent our products from being bought by Death Eaters," said George. "Some spell, or charm."_

_"There's no such thing," said Fred._

_"There was no such thing as a Nosebleed Nougat before we invented it," George shot back._

_Hermione nodded. "I'll help you."_

_Fred's eyebrows went up. "You're joking."_

_"I will. If I have time to, before..."_

_"Before what?" asked Fred._

_Hermione and Ron looked back towards the lake, where Harry had disappeared. They exchanged a glance, and then Ron nodded. "Harry's going to leave and not come back to school next year," said Hermione. "And we're going with him."_

_The twins turned surprised eyes at Ron. "Seriously?" asked Fred. Ron nodded. "Why?"_

_"Because Dumbledore was doing something important," said Ron. "And Harry decided that he needs to finish the job. He's not going to waste another year in school, what with Dumbledore being gone and all."_

_"You're seriously going to leave school?" asked George._

_"Look who's talking," said Ron with a small smile._

_"You know it'll kill Mum if you do," said Fred. "What we did was bad enough. She expects more from you prefect types."_

_"And she'll try to stop you," George said._

_"I know," said Ron._

_"It's not just that she'll shout at you for abandoning your education, mate," said George. "It's that it'll break her heart, if anything else happens to any of us."_

_"I know," said Ron with a grimace. "And I'm sorry, but I can't help that. At least we won't be leaving till after the wedding." The twins looked at their little brother with new respect. Ickle Ronniekins wasn't so ickle any more._

_"Will you help me?"_

_"Of course," they both said._

_"Whatever you need," said Fred._

_"Thanks," said Ron. He looked around at the groups of people still near the tomb. "D'you know where Ginny went?"_

_"She cleared out just after Harry left," said George. "Went back to the school with Neville and Loony."_

_"She didn't look too good," said Fred._

_"Nobody looks too good right now," said George._

_"Harry broke up with her," said Hermione._

_Fred and George blinked. "What? Why?"_

_"Because he's leaving. He says she took it well."_

_"She probably guessed he's going to go off and be a hero," said Ron. "Hermione wants to make sure she's all right."_

_"I'll start work on the anti-Death Eater purchasing spell after I see her," said Hermione. "Do you want a warning spell or a hex?"_

_Fred and George glanced at each other. "Hex," said Fred. "Something like the 'sneak' thing you did for the DA, but more painful. A_ lot _more painful."_

_"And permanent," said George._

_"And if it can include ridicule and humiliation, that would be even better."_

_"I'll let you know what I come up with. In fact, we should go to the library right after we see Ginny," she said to Ron, who nodded._

_They walked off, and Fred gave a low whistle. "Clever girl. Too good for Ron."_

_"Not as pretty as that ex of his, though," said George._

_"Lavender? She was a bit of a twit. Hermione's looks are fine."_

_"I didn't say they weren't. Only Lavender's prettier."_

_"Hermione's pretty enough. In fact, if Ron wasn't there already..."_

_George chuckled. "Now I know you're taking the piss."_

_"There's something about bookworms that's rather attractive. All that pent-up passion for learning, unleashed onto a person; wouldn't that be brilliant?"_

_George laughed. "Well, she's off-limits to us," he said. "Though I doubt Ron will be able to satisfy her for long. Especially if they're going to be travelling together. She'll probably kill him within a week."_

_"If Mum doesn't kill him first, for wanting to leave."_

_"Well, if we do it right, he'll be gone before she gets the chance to," said George._

_"So she'll kill us instead."_

_"Mum only does what she thinks is best for all of us," said George. "You know how worried she gets. She didn't speak to Remus for weeks after he helped us get into the Order."_

_"Good thing Tonks went lovesick and he went tragically noble," said Fred. "Softened Mum up a bit."_

_"Yeah, well," George sighed. "Now she'll have to be grateful to Remus for helping Bill, too."_

_They were silent again. "It was our fault," said Fred._

_"It was_ not,_" George said forcefully. "It was Snape's. And Draco Malfoy's. Even Bill doesn't blame us. Don't go pathetic and guilt-ridden on me."_

_Fred covered his face with his hands. "Fuck, I know, I know. Only I still feel like..."_

_George put an arm around his twin. "I know. Me too."_

_There was so much to say, and no way to say it._

_No reason to, either. "Firewhisky?" suggested George._

_Fred nodded. "Firewhisky. Let's go say goodbye to Mum and Dad and get the hell out of here."_

Molly tasted the soup and glanced at her clock, where both Fred's and George's hands still pointed to Lost, as they had since May. And for the hundredth time since May, she wondered if she would ever be able to bring herself to take it to the Time Keeper, to remove Fred's hand.

She waved her wand to thicken the soup, and hoped Donald could help bring George back from Lost. She'd been surprised that George had allowed Donald to talk to him; sometimes it seemed the stay at St. Mungo's had only made him more close-mouthed than ever. But he'd listened, let down his guard, and even seemed to enjoy the rest of the evening. He'd even gone outside with Donald after dinner, for a good long while.

Molly had looked out at them a few times. The first time, George had mostly just been listening, with a serious expression on his face. The next time Molly had looked back out, George was looking down at the ground, speaking, and the Healer was nodding now and then. At one point George stopped and rubbed the bridge of his nose, obviously fighting for composure, and the Healer nodded and looked away, waiting patiently until George could speak again.

She started as her Floo activated. As if thinking about him had made him appear, George came into the kitchen for his weekly visit, dusting ashes off of his clothes. He gave her a hug.

"I've almost got lunch ready, dear. Can you help me finish up here while the Flitterbloom softens?"

He nodded, cleaning the cutlery by hand as she finished making salad dressing- funny how much he did by hand, now, and she wondered how much of it was to avoid using magic that might not work properly, and how much to fill the time, now that he didn't spend most of his time making jokes with Fred.

"Mum, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

George slowly put away the cutlery, looking like he was trying to figure out what to say. "How long did it take? I mean, with your brothers, before you were all right again?"

Molly sighed. "I don't know, it's hard to tell. It wasn't the same for me as it is for you."

"But you had nobody left. I've still got the others."

"I know, but... I don't know. I cried a lot in the first few months, but I had the lot of you to take care of so I couldn't do much about it." She tested the soup again and nodded, then ladled out two bowls. "Believe it or not, you and your brother helped a great deal," she told George, leading him back to the table. "I tried very hard not to think of you as Gideon and Fabian come back, and most of the time it wasn't difficult; you weren't exactly witty when you were born. Gideon and Fabian had never once kept me up all night with colic, or made me go 'round the bend trying to make sure they didn't swallow everything that wasn't nailed down."

George gave her a small smile. "I think, sometimes, if I ever have a son, I'd name him Fred, but then I think he wouldn't replace Fred."

"No. Not at all. But he might remind you of Fred. He might make the loss easier to bear, I don't know. You and your brother..." she smiled sadly.

"Does it make it feel like they've died again?" George asked softly, and she looked at him, startled. "We were a lot like them, you always said. We talked at the same time and spent all our time together and drove everyone around us mental. And that's gone now, for the second time."

Molly blinked rapidly.

"D'you ever wonder what would've happened if only one of them had died?"

Molly shook her head.

"I heard you talk to Dad about that once," he said slowly, taking a spoonful of soup. "We both heard you."

"What did you hear?"

"You said... you were angry with us, I don't remember what we'd done. You were talking to Dad afterwards and you said it was like they were back. And you said the only thing worse than having lost both of them might have been having lost only one of them."

Molly paled. "I didn't mean it."

"You said it."

"I didn't mean it."

"Think of Gideon and Fabian, Mum. Could you have ever imagined one of them without the other?"

Molly tried to nod and couldn't.

"I didn't think so." He looked down, stirring his soup.

"I couldn't imagine them," she said. "But they weren't you. You've come so far. You've tried so hard. You've kept the shop going, you've kept coming home, being with your family... you're doing well."

George shook his head. "I'm not, Mum."

"What do you mean?"

"The Healer - Donald - he says it's not that unusual to feel some of what I feel. Says a lot of people feel like they're going insane."

"Do you?"

George bit his lip. "I feel like Fred's still alive, sometimes. He said you feel that too."

"It's not that unusual. It's hard to accept somebody's just gone. I felt like Fabian and Gideon lived on in you, like I said."

"I think it's different for me."

"What d'you mean?"

George glanced at her, nervously. "I know he's dead. I know it. But... but every night, I - he's alive. I wake up convinced that he's still alive, we've buried him and he's suffocating and I know it's mental! Bloody hell, I sat up with his body for an entire day, I closed his eyelids and he had stone dust on his eyes, I carried him to his grave, I _know_ he's dead! And even if he hadn't died, I keep telling myself he's hardly still alive under there after all this time. Whether we buried him alive or not, he's pretty dead by now. But..."

Molly stared at him as he struggled to express himself. Her brilliant boy, never without something to say... and he was reaching for every word.

"I feel him, Mum. I know it's mental, but sometimes I feel him so alive it's frightening."

"What do you do?"

George shrugged. "Dreamless Draught. Or Firewhisky, whatever it takes," he said quietly.

"George-"

"I _know_, Mum! But it's either that or go dig him up! And the thing about it is, if an entire day sitting with his dead body didn't convince me, what's to say seeing whatever's left of him now would do the trick?" He was speaking rapidly now, blinking and holding his arms tight around himself, avoiding her gaze.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked him.

"I'm going mental, Mum," he said softly. "Every night I feel like I'm a couple steps away from getting a permanent room right next to Gilderoy Lockhart and the Longbottoms. And no offence, but you were the one who fancied Lockhart, not me, and I'm a little scared of being visited by Neville's grandmother."

**December**

_Dad was hurt. Dad was maybe dying or dead, somewhere out there. And they couldn't do anything about it. George stared at the table, brooding. Their Dad, whom they made fun of but who had always been there for them - they might never see him again. They might never be able to talk to him, ask him for advice. He had somehow remained cheerful and brave and strong, through all the crap their family had gone through, somehow kept his dignity intact, and now he might be dead._

_He might be dead._

_What would it be like, never seeing Dad again? Seeing an empty place at the table, seeing Mum all alone?_

_They would help her, all they could. If anything happened to Dad, Fred and George would do anything and everything they could think of to help their Mum cope with it. They would stop messing around and causing her grief, because Mum couldn't deal with them without Dad. They would stop playing jokes on her - on everybody. They would even make peace with Percy the Prat. Although if Dad died, and Percy hadn't come to see him..._

_Even then. If Mum wanted them to make up to Percy, they would do whatever she wanted. Mum yelled at them and caused them endless amounts of grief, but whereas Harry got bars on his windows from the people who were supposed to love him, their Mum even took in orphans she had no relation to, and loved them all._

_George glanced at Fred._

_Dad had to be OK._

_Maybe they could make a bargain that they would never play another prank again, if only Dad could be safe. Never talk about going into business together, unless it was to make money for Mum, if only Dad could be safe. They would never make fun of Percy again, if only Dad was safe._

_Fred was the one who believed in God, at least a bit, and George didn't, but right now he would believe in anything, if only Dad was safe._

_He closed his eyes. Please, please let Dad be safe, he prayed. Please let this be just another Christmas, with ugly jumpers and Mum's treacle tart and her whinging about our lack of NEWTs. Please let all of us be home for Christmas this year. Maybe Percy won't be there, but at least let Dad be safe._

_He thought of the last Christmas they'd all been together, the year before Ron went into Hogwarts. Bill was home from Egypt, Charlie in his final year of Hogwarts, Percy on his fourth, Fred and George on their second, Ron and Ginny still at home. So, so long ago. If it turned out that _this_ could've been the last year their whole family could've been together, and Percy wasn't because of his bloody job, he and Fred would probably kill him._

_Fred was starting to doze off. Sirius looked like shit. Harry looked ill; Ron chewed on his lip; Ginny was blank-faced._

_George closed his eyes again. We're sorry. Please let Dad be safe. We're sorry._

_Please let Dad be safe._

Christmas was indeed a nightmare.

Mum was trying, so hard, to make everything all right. To make everyone feel blessed that they had survived. To make everyone go forward, instead of backwards. The bloody counsellor had done a good job with her, at least on the surface.

But nothing worked. Bill and Fleur were all right, but Hermione and Ron were in love and yet still so bloody sad; Hermione about her parents, who had recovered fully but still not forgiven her for what she had done to them, and Ron, George was convinced, over dropping out of the Auror program. Charlie was insufferable, talking about his damn dragons as though nothing had happened. Ginny and Harry were having rows almost every day; apparently their separation during the semester hadn't gone well. George wanted them to for fuck's sake either work out their issues or leave each other alone. Percy was the one spot of sanity in the house, and if that wasn't messed up, he didn't know what was.

He escaped to Andromeda's house fairly often. To pubs fairly often too.

I can't do this, mate, he said to Fred-in-his-head on Christmas Eve, taking refuge from the eternal angst in Dad's shed with a full steaming goblet of Christmas Toad Toddy.

_What do you mean? You are doing it._

I'm not. I can't.

_Yeah, you can. Come on._

I can't keep going.

_Yeah, you can._

Bloody hell, this was pointless. Evidently Fred-in-his-head only worked when he popped up unbidden from George's subconscious. Not when George reached out to him. Good to know.

He took a long swig of the Toddy, felt it warm him all the way down, and tried to strengthen his resolve.

He would not spoil Christmas for everyone, he told himself sternly. They were all together, for the first time since forever. As together as they'd ever be again. And he was feeling better.

All right, he wasn't. But he could at least fake it enough to convince the rest of the family. And things would be better after Christmas.

Except they wouldn't be.

It would be all right after the funeral, he had thought. After he got out of The Burrow. After business settled a bit. After he was no longer out on the shop floor; after he went to St. Mungo's; after he got out of St. Mungo's... and it was never all right.

It was never going to be all right. Not until he felt like a whole person again. And that wasn't going to happen in this lifetime.

It's never going to be all right, he said, reaching for Fred-in-his-head again. And I don't think I can do this.

Fred said nothing.

I really don't, he told the empty silence, hoping for something encouraging. Or discouraging. Or anything at all.

_Maybe you can't._

George caught his breath.

What?

_Maybe you're right._

What's that supposed to mean?

_Maybe you're not going to make it through this._

You're just a figment of my imagination, right? Because if you were real, if you were really Fred, you would never...

Silence.

Because if even you don't have faith that I can pull through, I don't know how I can.

_Do you think you can?_

I don't know. Bloody hell, I'm going insane. I'm arguing with myself. I'm tired and I'm beaten and I don't see anything ever getting better. And the psychiatrist says that's just classical depression talking, but what does he know? He doesn't know what it's like to grow up the way we did, and then not have that any more. He doesn't understand how it feels to feel _less_ than everyone, after a lifetime of being _more_, because everybody else knows how to be a singleton and I don't. He doesn't get that looking at an entire lifetime of this depresses the shit out of me. He doesn't know that sometimes it feels like every day the pull to just end it gets stronger and stronger.

_Do you think you can?_ Fred's voice repeated.

I've tried. I've tried so bloody hard. I tried working, I tried drinking, I tried avoiding people, I tried St. Mungo's, I tried a psychiatrist and a counsellor, Cheering potions, Calming draughts, reading, helping Luna Lovegood, talking to Mum...

_If you don't make it, it's going to gut the family. You know that._

I know.

_They'll think it's their fault. You can't let that happen._

No. I won't.


	7. Rock Bottom

**January**

"See you tomorrow," said Ron.

"Yeah, see you," said George, not looking up from the stacks of Knicker Knockers he was counting. "Have fun on your date."

"Yeah, and you have fun at the concert." Ron hung his uniform up and put his wand in his pocket. "Did you let Mum know you were going?"

"No, why?"

"She'd be glad to hear you're going out. She's been worried about you."

George shrugged. "What else is new?"

"Though not so much, now Christmas is over. What a fucking nightmare, for everyone."

"Should be better next year," said George absently, recording the number of Knicker Knockers and moving on to the Soylent Greenbeans. "At least that's what the Healer said."

"He's probably right. You've been in a better mood, anyway," he said. George gave him a small smile but didn't stop counting. "Anyway, say hi to Lee."

"Lee? Oh, tonight - yeah, no, he's not going. Got sick."

Ron stopped. "Oh."

"Yeah, rotten luck. He's the one who actually liked the Bleating Banshees in the first place. Plus he wanted to visit that new curry place before the concert."

"You're going by yourself?"

George nodded.

"I could... if you want, I can-"

George glanced up at him, a small smile quirking his mouth. "Thanks, but I'm not keen on Hermione serving up my bollocks to me if I let you. She's been looking forward to this how long?"

Ron made a dismissive gesture. "If it's for you, she-"

"Ron. Go see your girlfriend."

"I don't have to-"

"To be honest, I wasn't that upset when Lee cancelled on me; I've had a splitting headache all day and there's still inventory to be done before I go, and I didn't particularly feel like making conversation." He finished with the Soylent Greenbeans and moved on to the Gargoyle Gaggers. "Now, go see that girlfriend of yours and tomorrow I'll tell you all about the Banshees, and you can tell me all about how far she let you get under her skirt."

Ron laughed. "Speaking of Hermione serving up anyone's bollocks..."

George chuckled. "Coward. Go have fun. You've earned it. You've gone above and beyond your brotherly duty, as usual. Thanks."

Ron's eyebrows went up. "Thanks. See you tomorrow."

"Don't forget to lock up the front."

Ron nodded, and stepped out. He waved his wand at the door, and did up his cloak. Let's see, he had his wand, he had Hermione's gift, he had money... he started to walk down to the Apparition point, allowing himself to think of Hermione and their date. It had been wonderful seeing her over the hols, but this long-distance thing was getting old. Especially as the hols hadn't exactly been filled with cheer, considering Mum and George and Ginny and - well, all of them, really, struggling through it.

Things were better, now. It seemed they had found some kind of peace in the last few weeks. Mum wasn't so clingy, George wasn't so broody and angry. He wasn't as he had been - God knew he probably never would be - but he seemed to have his sense of humour back. And Ron was certainly feeling a hell of a lot better.

How much of it all had to do with getting out of Auror training, though? No longer being pulled in fifty different directions, but able to devote himself to the shop and George, and to Hermione, and to his own need to heal? And he was keeping up with the Aurors, studying at night, without the grueling pace of active training.

'Need to heal', and studying voluntarily. The hell. He was starting to sound like Hermione.

He stopped, and groaned. Study. He'd forgotten his bloody Surveillance textbook. He stood in the snow for a moment, annoyed at himself, trying to decide whether to return and pick it up or not. On the one hand, he didn't want to be late for Hermione, but on the other hand...

No, it was for studying. She would understand. He sighed, and started back towards the shop.

He swore as he reached it and found it dark - George had apparently finished inventory and gone off to dinner already. Ron took out his wand and undid the wards, trying to remember where he'd left the text. Maybe in the lab?

He made his way downstairs, puzzled to find the lab door slightly open, light spilling out from inside, and peered in. A cauldron was bubbling away in the corner, and Ron felt a stab of annoyance. Bugger all this for a lark, no matter how harmless a potion seemed, really, brewing when you were alone was just plain stupid, and especially if you were supposed to be heading out for a concert-

George lay crumpled on the floor next to the cauldron, a stirring spoon on the floor beside him.

Ron's heart gave a sharp stab and he rushed to George's side and dropped to his knees.

Oh God. Oh God oh fuck oh God, he touched George's throat and mouth - fuck, not breathing, though he at least had a pulse. Time slowed down as Ron's instinct and training kicked in. Bezoar. In pocket, always, at Wheezes, and he opened George's mouth and slipped it in, dimly he was aware that he should probably be relieved, but felt nothing but a cold logical Yes as George shuddered and heaved a breath.

Good. Now he had a bit of time. A bezoar would counteract the immediate deadly effects of a bad potion or poison, but as Ron's own stay in the infirmary in sixth year had shown, it usually wasn't enough to totally negate the damage. So the next questions to answer were: what the hell had George been working with, and how was Ron going to get him to St. Mungo's. The Personal Test wards they'd put up should've alerted St. Mungo's after a minute of George not saying the counter-spell - he checked the Ward Board and felt fleeting impatience at George, it wasn't a two-minute Personal Test Alarm but a fifteen-minute Object Test Alarm, he was really going to kill George and put his foot down about brewing alone, period.

All right, that meant he only had at most fifteen minutes before St. Mungo's was alerted anyway.

He took his DA Galleon and spoke a spell to let Hermione know where he was, and that he needed her here immediately. He turned back to George, making sure he was still breathing and noting his signals just like Auror training had taught him to. Breath slow and uneven, pale, skin dry, tremors shaking him, heartbeat unsteady-

Dimly he heard Hermione calling out to him in the shop.

"In the lab!" he called back, and moved George onto his back, putting his head to George's chest and listening for a moment. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, heartbeat gone and all right, what was it his instructors had told him about Muggle resuscitation techniques when there might be poisons or charms that might interfere with magical resuscitation...

The door opened. "What the-"

"He's poisoned, I don't know with what," said Ron, getting into position straddling George and starting chest compressions, one-two-three-four-five-six - "I've lost his pulse and he isn't breathing, but the poison itself is out of his system." He reached thirty compressions, moved beside George, tilted his head back, pinched his nose and breathed into his mouth. "I'm doing AR and can't Apparate us out." He breathed again. "We're also going to need to bring along whatever he took. I think it's in that cauldron."

"Right," said Hermione crisply, and if Ron could've taken the time, he would've cheered as she went into Competent Mode, but he was busy pushing against George's chest, willing his heart to start beating again, willing his lungs to fill without Ron's help. "I'll deal with his wards and take a sample from the cauldron."

Ron nodded, breathing into George's mouth again, then compressing his chest. "The wards will lower when St. Mungo's is called anyway, but I don't want to wait that long." George's skin was still warm, although the pallor of his face brought back a horrible flashback to Fred's corpse. He averted his eyes from George's closed eyes, with his body jerking slightly in time to Ron's compressions.

"D'you know what's in the cauldron?" said Hermione. "And why can't you do an Ennervating spell or something for his heart?"

Ron looked up between compressions, and Merlin, George wasn't moving, his body lying limp. "Can't, not unless I know what poisoned him. What colour is it?" He knelt down, breathed into George's mouth again and noted a Banshees concert ticket sticking out of his shirt pocket, small curry stain on his collar.

"Light blue, opaque, about five cups worth, smells like-"

"Lemon, right, that's Chameleon Chaser potion, half-batch." Ron started compressions again, trying to remember all the ingredients. Damn, it had jonquils, which would react with Ennervate, just his luck, and he spotted a piece of paper next to George's hand. A napkin from Pandoora's Kitchen, curry sauce on the corner of the napkin, _hellebore x 2?_ scrawled and scratched out in George's messy hand, followed by _hellebore x 3?_ The floor needed sweeping, too. Ron blanked his mind of irrelevant thoughts; funny the things that went through your mind while you desperately tried to revive your incompetent irresponsible arse of an older brother, who was evidently far more concerned with making a potent Chameleon Chaser than making sure he didn't, you know, _die_.

The seconds seemed interminable as Ron pushed and breathed, and Hermione dealt with the wards, muttering to herself. Finally she gave a satisfied cry. "They're down," she said.

George suddenly coughed and breathed in.

"Good," said Ron. "Let's go." He glanced at his watch and frowned. Sixteen minutes since he'd arrived; the wards should've dinged St. Mungo's by now. He glanced at the small timer clock next to the Ward Board, set to twelve-thirty. He lifted George into his arms, shifting to support his neck as his head fell limply back, and rose to his feet. Hermione grabbed the cauldron, ingredients and napkin, and they Apparated directly into St. Mungo's.

Immediately staff surrounded them, taking George and laying him onto a stretcher, babbling questions at Ron and Hermione.

"We've got the potion recipe and some of the ingredients," said Hermione, and the St. Mungo's Potions specialist whisked them from her with a thankful smile.

"Ron?" Ron turned from George's still form to see Harry running into the hospital emergency room. "Are you all right?"

"What?"

"My Galleon just gave me your message to Hermione," he said. "I got to Wheezes just in time to hear you pop out. Guessed you might be here."

"George had an accident at the shop lab," said Hermione. "Ron found him and we brought him here."

Harry frowned, looking over to where George was being worked on by staff. "He was alone in the lab? Testing?"

Hermione shook her head quickly. "Oh, no no - he was brewing. Just an accident. He was making a batch of Chameleon Chaser." She turned to Ron. "Didn't you tell me you were having a bit of trouble with that?"

"Yeah, the colours weren't bright enough," said Ron, his voice sounding hollow to his ears. "We'd talked about making it more potent."

"That's what he'd written on the napkin, then. He put in more hellebore."

"Three times as much as the regular recipe," said Ron.

"That shouldn't have been lethal."

"Only he was making a half-batch and didn't figure that in, so three times as much turned into six times."

Hermione clapped a hand to her forehead. "And then he used the wrong Alarm spell. What a cock-up. It's a good thing you showed up; it might've been too late by the time the wards dinged St. Mungo's. Bloody hell, maybe he'll finally stop brewing alone after this, no matter what wards you have, it's not safe to-"

"It wasn't a cock-up," Ron broke in. "It was a suicide attempt."

Hermione and Harry turned to him in shock. "What?"

"He misbrewed it deliberately," said Ron.

"But - he didn't mean to-"

"It was supposed to look like an accident," said Ron, his hands starting to shake. "He had a napkin from Pandoora's and a ticket to the Banshees, but there wasn't time for him to have eaten yet and the Banshees concert hasn't even started yet. His breath didn't smell of curry either. After we found his body, the napkin and ticket stub were supposed to make it look like he'd gone to supper, then the concert, come home, then misbrewed."

"But-"

Ron felt his legs trembling and put a hand on the wall waiting room wall. No, he couldn't lose it. Not yet. "The Alarm ward wasn't just wrong; it wasn't even cast yet," he said, and swallowed. "The timer clock next to it was set to twelve-thirty. It was supposed to activate at twelve-thirty, give him fifteen minutes, then ding St. Mungo's. They were supposed to get there and find him dead already, and it was all supposed to be an unfortunate accident. Bastard. If they manage to save his life, I'm going to kill him."

Harry and Hermione stood gaping at him, then turned to George. Ron's breath was coming more quickly now, his entire body shaking with the aftereffects, now that George was somebody else's responsibility.

Suicide. George had tried to off himself. What they'd all feared, ever since Fred's death, had almost happened.

Hermione took him by the hand and led him to the nearest bench. "Ron, you need to call your family."

Ron shook his head. "No."

"You can't keep this to yourself."

"I can't. It'll kill them. Besides, he didn't want us to know, and none of us would've known, if..." He pushed his hair back, noting his hand was shaking rather badly. He took a breath. "Percy. He'll know what to do. That's who George called back in September."

"He also had Lee with him when he checked in."

"Lee's sick." Ron paused and shook his head. "No, he's probably not. George probably slipped him something so he'd miss the concert tonight. So George could do... this."

"All right, Ron, I'm going to call Percy," said Hermione. "Ron?" He looked up. "I'm going to call Percy. I'll be back. Harry?"

Harry started and moved to Ron's side, sinking down to the bench beside him. Ron stared blankly at the mediwizards as they roughly pushed back George's hair and made weird wand movements that drew lighted symbols over his temples, the base of his throat, the middle of his chest, his wrists, and his closed eyes.

It seemed like only moments until Ron heard the door open. He looked up at Percy, wearing a casual shirt, no tie, and had a flashback. Telling on Fred and George to their older brother, and feeling like a sneak, knowing that Percy would make sure they got in the proper amount of trouble for whatever they'd done.

"What's happened?" asked Percy. He glanced at George and the mediwizards, and blanched. "Hermione's been giving me some of the details. Misbrewed potion? And you don't think it was an accident?"

"It was supposed to look like an accident. He bloody well tried to kill himself." Ron stared at Percy, anger beginning to bubble up past the numbness and fear of the last hour. After everything they'd done for George, everything Ron had done for him, given up on the Aurors, worked day and night at the bloody shop, worried about him, visited him in the hospital, worked with family and friends looking after him, tried so fucking hard to help him - though both twins had been the bane of Ron's existence through their childhoods, and George still was - Ron was tempted to tell the mediwizards to step back and _let_ him fucking well die, if that's what he really wanted. It was like every flashback to Fred and George was bubbling up, and once again Ron was running to Percy and crying to him while Fred and George laughed at him, using his Puffskein as a Bludger, turning his teddy bear into a spider and his hair into feathers, not caring at all how much they hurt him - and he glared at George, still and pale as the mediwizards worked on him. Lying there silently just like Fred, ripping their hearts out all over again, just like Fred, except Fred hadn't done it deliberately, Fred would've fought like _hell_ to keep living if he'd only had a chance. Fred hadn't meant to hurt any of them, but George hadn't given a shit. Looking exactly like Fred, only Fred had died a hero and George would've died a bloody coward, taking the easy way out, as if he was the only one who cared that Fred was gone, as if the rest of them hadn't gone through hell too, as if the rest of them could stand to bury another brother, another son, less than a year after the first one, and bloody hell they were in _no_ way alike.

Vaguely he could feel Hermione put a hand on his arm, but he shook her off impatiently, speaking to Percy. "He was just going to die, in the testing room, and we were going to find him and think it was a fucking accident instead of, of-" he was so angry he couldn't speak. An accident. If Ron hadn't been an idiot and left behind his book, he would've walked in to work tomorrow only to find another dead brother.

Actually, no, he wouldn't have; the wards would've dinged to St. Mungo's and some emergency crew would've gone in, and by the time Ron showed up the next day it would've been all over and a St. Mungo's Healer would've called Mum and Dad to tell them that they were down to five kids now. And the ticket stub in George's pocket, and the dinner plans he'd talked about, would've made it seem like it was just an unfortunate accident...

They would've thought it was an accident. They never would have known that George was so fucking miserable he'd chosen to end his own life rather than keep struggling to find meaning in it.

None of them would've known.

They never would have known just how desperate he was. They wouldn't have known that he'd had to plan to make it look like it was just an unfortunate accident, so that none of his family would find his dead body, none of them would know that they'd failed him. George would have lived his last moments completely alone, with nobody to know how much he hurt, nobody to try to ease his pain, no goodbyes, nobody to hold him, try to breathe life back into his body.

Not like Fred, who'd died among brothers and friends, full of fierce joy to his very last breath. Nothing like Fred at all.

Ron blinked, only realizing his eyes had filled with tears from the sudden coolness on his cheeks as they spilled over. He turned back to the mediwizards working over George, who lay still and pale and unresponsive, his fingers potion-stained, their nails bitten down to the quick. His frame too slender, full of the small scars of the last several years as a prankster and the last months pushing himself every single day just to get through the day at all.

"Oh my God, George," Ron whispered, and his voice broke.

Percy sat down next to him and pulled Ron into his arms, and Ron was forcibly reminded of stumbling to Fred's side during the break in the battle at the school, the entire family gathered around his dead body, George sitting hollow-eyed at his head, and Percy clinging to Ron for comfort for once.

He lay his head on Percy's shoulder and let the tears come.

"We failed him." He couldn't stop seeing George in his mind's eye, taking the potion alone, lying down to die alone, as he had never been since before he and Fred had breathed their first breaths. As he had been since the moment Fred breathed his last.

Percy shook his head, his voice tight. "We didn't. We tried. _He_ tried. It just wasn't enough."

"I should have known. I work with him. I thought he was better-"

Percy cleared his throat. "I thought so too. He seemed better. The last few weeks..."

George had seemed better. He'd seemed calmer. He'd smiled at all the right times, joked with customers, cleaned and organized the shop with calm efficiency, and the weight that had seemed to press down on him for months had seemed to lift.

Ron buried his head on Percy's shoulder, sobs racking him, and felt Percy break down as well.

"God, we've all tried so bloody hard," Percy said brokenly. "We just can't. We can't help him."

And they couldn't. All of George's brothers and his sister, and his parents, and Harry and Hermione and Lee as well, were simply not enough. They couldn't replace the half of George that was gone forever. He could hear Harry and Hermione's grief as well, all of them frustrated and angry and scared, and sobbing in a huddled group together because there was nothing else to be done.

All right, he needed to get a grip and bring himself back under control. He shuddered and took a deep breath, raising his head from Percy's shoulder. "Merlin, look at all of us," he said, wiping his eyes. "Fred would be laughing at us right now."

Percy shook his head. "Can you imagine Fred laughing while George was in pain?" he asked. "I missed the chance to get to know Fred as an adult. But I can't see him doing anything other than crying harder than any of us right now."

Ron nodded. And he could almost feel Fred's presence among them, feel his pain and fear, feel him almost as though he could touch him. Could almost see him standing over George, as the mediwizards continued to work on him, their wands making odd patterns of light over him. One of the mediwitches moved away from George and approached them.

"How is he?" Hermione asked her.

"He's fighting," said the mediwitch. "He's very strong."

"That's... that's good, isn't it?"

"No, he's not fighting to live," said the mediwitch. "He's fighting against us." Ron wiped his cheeks, and the mediwitch pulled up a chair in front of him and Percy. "He will be all right. Physically. You got the poison out of his system, and there's three of us and only one of him. He'll remain unconscious for a long time, but he's no longer in any danger of death or permanent damage. You saved your brother's life."

Somehow that didn't seem comforting at all.

"He seemed better," said Percy, his voice soft. "Ever since after Christmas."

"Maybe he was better because he'd figured out what he was going to do," said the mediwitch quietly. "Sometimes when people have worked out a plan, they feel better. They feel as though whatever pain they're in is going to have an ending, and it makes it easier for them to cope with it." She cleared her throat. "He will have to be admitted to the Mental Maladies ward, though," she said. "I believe he was here a few months ago?"

"Yeah. Checked himself in voluntarily," said Ron.

"He won't have a choice this time," the mediwitch said. "And he probably won't be terribly pleased when he wakes up."

Ron shook his head. "No, I suppose not."

"He'll be all right," said the mediwitch. "He's breathing on his own now, and we've got him stabilized. We're going to move him to the ward. Could you stay and complete some paperwork for us?"

Ron gazed at George, who looked pale but peaceful. He stood and moved to George's side and touched his arm, then dropped his hand as the orderlies wheeled him away.

"It would also be good to decide now who will be with him when he awakens," said the mediwitch. "We should also discuss his condition with a few more family members."

Ron and Percy exchanged a look. "I'll do the paperwork," murmured Percy. "You think about what we're going to tell people for now. Then we'll talk to George after he wakes up, see what he wants."

Ron nodded, and the door burst open. "What happened?" Ginny asked, running in, panic-stricken, a nauseated-looking Lee right behind her. "Is George all right?"

Oh shit. "He's fine," Ron said hastily. "What happened? Why are you here?" And bugger it all, this was not on; he and Percy hadn't had a chance to decide what to tell the rest of the family-

"I went home and I looked at the clock - George's hand pointed to Mortal Danger for a bit, then back to Lost. I've been going frantic trying to find him. Went to Lee's and his location spell said George was here."

"You have a spell that checks on George's whereabouts?"

"Yeah," said Lee defensively. "Look, I've been worried about him, all right? It's not... stalking or anything. He won't let us worry too much."

"He had an accident," Percy stepped in smoothly. "With a product he was brewing. He's all right."

"Why the hell didn't you tell anybody?" asked Ginny.

"Didn't want to worry everyone, it wasn't that serious-"

"Not that serious?" Lee repeated. "Mortal Danger and taken to St. Mungo's isn't that serious?"

"You're shaking," Ginny said to Ron, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Nothing, just, you know, pissed at him," Ron said, deciding to follow Percy's lead. "He was fine. We didn't call you because he was fine."

"What the hell aren't you telling us?" She looked at all four of them, and all of them projected blankness back. "Harry," she said, her voice low. "You promised. No more secrets."

Harry swallowed but shook his head. "Gin, there was no need to worry anybody. He made a mistake, that's all."

"Gonna kill him when he wakes up, though," Ron said, striving for an annoyed tone. "He knows better. Maybe this'll teach him to finally listen to us when we tell him not to brew alone."

Percy gave a short laugh. "Fat chance. I think we'll have to set wards so you actually can't do anything alone in the lab."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Bill can help. And if George doesn't like it, he can fuck himself. I'm not doing this again."

Hermione nodded, patting his arm, and squeezed his hand.

Lee stared at all of them, then at Ginny. "Good luck trying to convince him," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

"He won't have a choice," Ron said grimly. "I'll quit if he doesn't agree to it."

Ginny's suspicious glare hadn't abated one bit. Her eyes narrowed again and she stepped closer to Ron. "You've been crying," she said evenly.

Ron felt himself flushing. "Erm, well it was upsetting. It could've been quite serious. We were worried-"

"You just said you didn't contact anybody else because you didn't want to worry us," Lee said flatly. "Because it wasn't that serious."

"There wasn't any point, he was-"

"You're lying," Ginny said angrily. "All of you. What really happened?"

"He tried to off himself, did he?" Lee said, his voice still flat, and the utter stillness of the room was all the answer they needed.

**ooo000ooo**

George opened his eyes and gazed blurrily at the ceiling. Ron could tell the exact moment when he realized where he was. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to move to his side, his eyes opening again as he realized he was restrained.

"What the-"

He looked up as Mum leaned forward.

"Where am I?" he said.

"You're at St. Mungo's," she said, her voice calm but still hoarse from hours of weeping.

"Why'm I-"

"Ron found you and brought you here. You're being restrained so you won't harm yourself. Again."

"What?"

Ron cleared his throat. "We know, George."

"Know what?"

"You tried to off yourself last night." Ron looked away, unable to look at George, to hear his denials. "You wanted it to look like an accident, and it would've if I hadn't happened to come back to the flat five minutes after I left. We know, George."

There was a long silence.

"If you knew," George said, his voice calm, "why did you stop me?"

Ron looked up. "Stop you from killing yourself?"

George nodded, his eyes glittering with something undefined.

"You expected us to just let you?" Mum said faintly.

"Why the hell not?"

Neither of them had an answer for that.

George closed his eyes and lay back, breathing deeply. "Let me go."

"No," said Mum.

"Let me go. Please."

"Not a chance," said Mum. "You're ill, and you're going to be taken care of until you're well again."

"I am never going to be _well_ again, Mum," he said bitterly. "I don't want to be here and I'm not going to stay. Let me go."

"There will be somebody here with you at all times," said Mum, just as the Healers had coached her to. "The Healers prefer to have patients watched by people rather than relying on magical restraints. Dad and I will take turns being here, and when we can't be, Bill and Percy and Ron will be here."

George grimaced. "Ickle Ronniekins? You're going to set my little brother to babysit me?"

"We would ask Ginny as well," Mum said, "but she has to go back to school. The last time, you kept everyone away and discharged yourself before you were ready. This time, you won't be able to go until you really are better again."

George's forehead creased and he struggled against the restraints, but they held firm. "God, I wish I'd been at that wall when it blew up," he said, closing his eyes and lying back down again.

Ron felt his face draining of colour. "You couldn't have done anything, George," he said. "None of us could. If you'd been there all that would've happened is you might've died, too."

He knew the moment he said it that it had been the wrong thing to say, as George opened his eyes again and gave a bitter laugh. "Ron, how fucking thick are you?" he said. "I know none of you could've saved him. Still wish I could've been there, to take his place."

"How can you wish it had been you instead of him?" Mum asked quietly. "How can you say that?"

"He would've handled this better. I'm sorry, I tried. I did my best but I can't-" He broke off. "He'd be so ashamed of me," he whispered.

"What?" said Mum.

"Fred. We... we talked about this, before, we knew this might happen, and we were going to just deal with it and get on with our lives, try to honour each other by not wallowing. I tried, but... I've let him down. He'd be ashamed of me, if he could see me now."

There was a long pause.

"Well, I don't know if he would or not," said Mum. "But I know I am."

"Mum?" Ron blurted, horrified, but George didn't react.

"Not because you're in here," Mum said, her voice shaking. "But because of what you just said. He would've - your brother loved you! He would've wanted to help you, he would never have judged you! You of all people should know that! The idea-"

"Mum, that's enough," Ron broke in.

"Don't you ever say anything like that again," said Mum, getting up. "Don't! Fred deserves better than that from you. He would've had more compassion than any of us; he would've understood, he would never have wanted his memory to be something that hurt you or made you feel worse. Don't you ever spit on his memory like that again!"

Ron stood up too, and put a hand on Mum's arm. "Mum. Why don't you go home? Please. I'll stay with him."

"Look, I will never be better again!" George said, laying his head back on the bed and glaring at Mum. "You can pretend all you want, but it's not going to happen! You can tell yourself we'll all be all right some day until you're blue in the face, but we never will be! And you can get the hell out of my fucking room, because I don't want you here! I don't want any of you!"

**ooo000ooo**

"I know you never got on with my father, sir," said Draco Malfoy. Arthur suppressed a snort at the understatement. "But I also know that you are a fair man, and what the Ministry's doing isn't fair."

"Your side never cared about fair," Arthur pointed out.

"And you fought against us for that," said Malfoy, his tone more respectful and subdued than his father's had ever been. "You won, sir. You deserved to, and we are all grateful that you were able to."

Arthur gave Malfoy a skeptical look, and Malfoy swallowed and continued. "We _are_ grateful, believe it or not. We couldn't put down what we'd called up. And, unlikely as it seems, we are willing to pay for our misdeeds." He gazed at Arthur seriously. "But we still have _some_ rights. Or rather, we should. If you can speak for us - not defend us, or what we did; only point out that we deserve legal representation too - that will help the process be fair."

"Why would I want to?" said Arthur.

"Because it's the right thing to do, sir, and you know it," said Malfoy.

Arthur stared at him.

"And so that nobody can hold grievances legitimately. So that people who believed as we believe can't say that we were punished unfairly. So that we can all move forward."

Arthur dropped his eyes. It was a sad, sad day when a Malfoy realized that a Weasley wasn't just going to do the right thing because it was the right thing to do. An even sadder thing when a Weasley knew what the right thing was, but just couldn't be arsed to care any more.

Arthur rubbed his forehead, his eyes coming to rest on the picture of his family that had been in his office since the day Bill had gone off to school. He gazed at Bill, eleven years old, wearing his most serious expression, his eyes sparkling with eagerness to be off to school. Charlie, nine, aching to follow his brother, impatient at being kept back with the "babies." Percy, six, trying to look like a big boy but surreptitiously sucking his thumb every so often. The twins, four years old, identical plasters on their elbows and knees, and eyes bright with excitement as they stared at the crowd bustling about them. Five minutes after the picture had been taken, they had both disappeared, and the Hogwarts Express had almost left late as everyone frantically tried to locate them, and finally found them in the ladies' room, trying to make a toilet explode. Ron, two years old, was crying in Arthur's arms, and Ginny, barely one, was sleeping peacefully in Molly's.

So much had changed. He gazed at the twins as they climbed onto Bill's suitcase.

He sighed. "I can't help you."

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Sir, I-"

"I'm sorry, son," said Arthur. "You're not wrong. I mean, I do hope your father rots in Azkaban for the rest of his life," he ignored Malfoy's soft indrawn breath, "but you're right, he does deserve legal representation before that's decided." He shook his head. "But I can't speak for him. I'm going on leave as of tomorrow. I'm sorry."

Malfoy gazed at Arthur curiously, his head to the side.

"I am sorry," Arthur repeated softly.

Malfoy nodded, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "All right, sir. Thank you for hearing me out."

"You're welcome," said Arthur. "And... good luck, for what it's worth."

"Thank you." Malfoy stood up, and went to the door. Then he paused, and turned. "Sir, I... I'm sorry about your son."

Arthur stared at him, and then gave a mirthless laugh, his throat going tight. "Which one?"

"Pardon me?"

"Which one? The one who was mauled, the one who died, or the one in St. Mungo's?" Malfoy's eyes widened slightly, and Arthur sighed and shook his head. "Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy."

Which one, thought Arthur as he picked up his photograph and traced a finger over the images there. His boys, his wonderful boys whom he loved more than life itself, seen grow from tiny babies to strong men he was so proud of... and he hadn't been able to protect a single one of them. The only one who had escaped relatively unscathed was Charlie. The others... one horribly scarred, one left the family for three years, one spent a year on the run - even his daughter had been tortured and terrorized during that hideous year after Dumbledore had died.

And his twins, his exasperating, amazing twins. The lucky one was six feet underground and forever twenty. The unlucky one...

"Which son? It's not Ron, is it?" Malfoy asked quietly and Arthur looked up, surprised to see him still there. "The one in the hospital?" Arthur's eyebrows went up. "Is it George? The other twin?

Arthur closed his eyes in pain. "Yes. George. The other twin." He sighed. "Mr. Malfoy, go home. I'm sorry; I can't do anything for you." He didn't bother to look around as Malfoy's footsteps slowly receded. Then he heard a soft cough.

"I'm... I'm sorry, sir," Malfoy said.

Arthur sighed. "Yes. Well. So am I."

**ooo000ooo**

"I don't want to do this any more," said George quietly. "I can't."

"What do you mean?" asked Donald.

"I just want it to end."

"What does that mean to you? Wanting it to end?"

George shrugged. "I want to die. This isn't life. This is just existing with no purpose."

"What do you imagine would be better if you died?"

"Nothing. But it wouldn't be worse."

"Do you believe you will see your brother again?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Do you look forward to the afterlife?"

"Not really. I'm not sure I believe in it."

Donald blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't know if I believe in an afterlife."

Donald's forehead creased. "But you're a wizard. You've been to Hogwarts. You've seen ghosts."

"They're ghosts. Not people."

"What do you mean?"

"I know, most people believe that ghosts are people who chose not to go on to the afterlife, and instead chose to stay half-alive. I'm not sure I believe that."

"What do you believe?"

"I think ghosts are just bits of magic. The way magic portraits are magic. A magic portrait isn't real. It's not the soul of the person who died. It's just their likeness captured in magic. It can respond and react the way the person could, but it's not the person. Any more than a character on those Muggle telly shows is a real person. I think that's what ghosts are."

Donald seemed to be having trouble processing this. "Then... you _don't_ believe in an afterlife?"

"Not really."

"Then why want to end your life?" Donald asked, baffled.

"It's just the end of your body. There's nothing after. No pain."

"And that's worth it, to you?"

"Yes."

**ooo000ooo**

_"Where the hell is the git" Fred asked irritably, checking his watch._

_"He'll be here," said George. "Unless he's got detention." He grinned. "Or he's snogging that girlfriend of his."_

_Fred sniggered, then checked his watch and drummed his fingers on the low wall they were perched upon. "Come to think of it, where is everybody? For a Hogsmeade weekend, this place is a bloody tomb."_

_"Yeah it's beginning to give me the willies. D'you think everyone's just too afraid to come out?"_

_"They may have cancelled it. Dad said they were considering it."_

_George nodded._

_"Let's go ask Rosmerta. We've been here almost an hour and I haven't seen a single student."_

_"D'you have somewhere to be?" Fred gave George an annoyed look. "Oi, silly git," chuckled George. "Don't turn into Percy, upset because your perfect colour-coded schedule's been thrown off. It's a nice day out, we're out of the lab, Verity's got everything under control, we got to see Zonko's, and it'll be worth the wait to see him open up the InsideOuter."_

_Fred grinned. "I can't wait for him to try to Nosebegone, myself."_

_"He's not that thick, you know," George laughed. "He'll get someone else to try that one first."_

_"Nah, he'll be too shocked at us for telling him the effects of the rest of 'em."_

_"Two Galleons says he still gets Hermione to check every single one," said George._

_Fred grimaced. "Mm-mm, Harry said it sounds like they're still not speaking."_

_"Well then maybe the Love Me, Love Me-knot will make them, erm, close again."_

_Fred sniggered. "And if they can trigger the Moonlit Serenader spell, we'll all be able to-"_

_"That one's a bit mean, don't you think?"_

_Fred shrugged. "Nah. He's a big boy. It's time he gets on with it, anyway."_

_George nodded and leaned back on the wall, closing his eyes and turning his face towards the sun. Fun as it was to live, breath and eat Wheezes, he had to admit that getting out of the constant noise and action, and just enjoying the feel of sun on his face and the soft hooting of owls at the Hogsmeade Post, was remarkably soothing. Especially considering the gloom and doom in the papers and the wizarding world in general. And the low nagging worry of the War, and the Order, and dealing with Mum's attitude over their recent induction into it. Suppers back at The Burrow just weren't the same with her fears constantly nagging at them._

_He sat up, pushing thoughts of their first, near-fatal, mission out of his head. "This Lavender of his," he said. "D'you remember her at all? I know she was in the DA, but..."_

_"Ringlets and tits is all I remember, mate," said Fred._

_"Not too big, but nice and bouncy - for both, if I recall."_

_Fred nodded. "She didn't seem the brightest candle in the chandelier, but then Ronnie's not exactly a shoo-in for that position either."_

_"Point.__ Think he's copped a feel yet?"_

_Fred laughed. "Think Hermione would've found a way to hex him if he had. 'Pervy bastard' in boils across his forehead?" He paused. "What d'you think she sent him at Christmas?"_

_"Who, Hermione?__ You just said they're not speaking."_

_"No, ringlet-girl.__ She sent him something, remember?" He scowled at George. "Something which you didn't let me use the Scope to peek at."_

_George shrugged. "The poor kid deserves some privacy. After all we've put him through."_

_"Oi, you're getting sentimental in your old age. Stop it."_

_George glanced around. "Call me old and you're only calling yourself older. Though I must say, being back here's bringing on an old age feeling like you wouldn't believe. I can feel my hairline receding."_

_They looked around. Somehow Hogsmeade seemed so much smaller than it had been less than a year ago. This time last year, Umbridge had been in full command of the school and they had been busily planning their escape from the educational prison that Hogwarts had become. Now..._

_"D'you miss it?" Fred asked suddenly._

_"Miss what?"_

_"School."_

_"Why would I?"_

_"You liked studying. More than I did, anyway."_

_George shrugged. "Not enough to miss being at school. The shop's loads more fun."_

_"D'you ever wish we'd finished?"_

_"School?"__ George blinked. "Why would I?"_

_"Dunno, only it was my idea to leave, and-"_

_"And it was bloody brilliant. What did it take you, two seconds to wrestle me into agreeing?"_

_Fred grinned._

_George grinned back and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. "Out here's where we belong, mate. Masters of our own destinies, not still having to ask permission to wander about when and where we want."_

_Fred chuckled. "Freedom or die?"_

_"Exactly.__ Our intellectual brilliance and enterprising spirits cannot be contained within walls not of our own making."_

_Fred laughed. "Especially when those walls stop us from making gallons of Galleons."_

_George nodded. It still struck him as completely unreal, the sheer volume of money they raked in. The mere idea of having a Gringott's vault of their own was still heady business, never mind having the ability to fill it. A lifetime of poverty could not be erased by mere months of prosperity._

_"No more scrounging. Or wearing Charlie's hand-me-downs."_

_Fred nodded, absently smoothing down the fine cloth of his cloak. "D'you know what we ought to do?"_

_"What?"_

_"We should get more nice things for Mum. She and Dad haven't been out in about a million years. In a few months we could probably pay for a trip abroad for them."_

_George's eyebrows went up. "Yeah! Dad always wanted to go to that Muggle place, what was it, EuroDinsey or something?"_

_"We'd have to figure out the exchange rate..." Fred chewed his lip. "You know, being around little kids can really make you appreciate how much they put up with from us. Also makes the thought of ever reproducing scare me silly."_

_"Scared of ending up with kids like us, are you? Hoping to avoid the curse by making it up to Mum and Dad?"_

_"There's not Galleons enough in the wizarding world for that, Georgie," laughed Fred. He thought for a moment. "We should get stuff for Ron and Ginny too."_

_"Speaking of trying to make up for being utter shits during our childhood..."_

_Fred waved a dismissive hand. "No, come on, that was all just standard big brother fare."_

_"With a few more explosions."_

_"And noxious smells, and risk to life and limb," Fred conceded. "But it's not like Bill and Charlie didn't torture the rest of us plenty too. What about the Dungeon? Remember Charlie always said he'd take us all once he was earning? He probably doesn't even remember. We should take Ron and Ginny."_

_"Ginny could us some new books, too," said George._

_"And new school robes for Ron," said Fred. "He's shot up like a bloody weed."_

_"And they both need new broomsticks," they said at the same time, and laughed._

_"And protection spells," said Fred. "Wish we'd thought to bring some of our Anti-Dark protecting charms."_

_"Where the hell is the git?" George said, checking his watch, then whirled around as the door of the Three Broomsticks slammed open._

_"Rosmerta?" they both exclaimed. "What is it?"_

_"Oh Merlin - boys, the school's just fire-called me." She gulped. "It's your brother, Ron. He's been hurt."_

_"What?"_

_"He's in the hospital wing," she said. "He's all right, but he's been poisoned-"_

_George's heart seemed to stop. "Poisoned?" he repeated._

_"Who'd want to poison Ron?" asked Fred._

_"The school's trying to reach your parents, but they aren't answering the Floo and your dad can't be located."_

_"Fred, the map-"_

_Fred was already scrabbling in his pocket for a piece of parchment kept there for emergencies. "We solemnly swear we're actually being good," they both muttered quickly, and a map of The Burrow appeared on the parchment. Thank you, Marauders, for the brilliant idea._

_"He's in the shed," said Fred. "He can't hear anything going on in the house, and Mum's not home."_

_"We've got to go there."_

_Rosmerta__ nodded. "I'm sure Ron will be all right, boys," she said, her voice now taking on a soothing tone, and George took one look at Fred's face and realized his own must look like shit. Ashen was not a good look on them; made it look like their freckles had been daubed on like black paint, and clashed with their hair even worse than their WWW robes did._

_"Here, come on, let's get you up to the school." She glanced at their presents. "I'm not sure he'll be able to appreciate those for a while, but you may as well take them along."_

**ooo000ooo**

"Oh for Merlin's sake," groaned George. There went Mr. Riley, two people ahead of him in the dinner queue, suddenly deciding he was a swan, flapping and honking and stretching his skinny neck. And, of course, right on cue, Miss Manners behind him turned into a fish and started flopping on the floor. George blew out his breath and stepped aside as a couple of mediwizards rushed past. Now the entire ward staff would be embroiled in the mess, and the rest of them would have to sit and wait for supper. Which was just about the only thing anybody had to look forward to in this miserable place.

"Back off!" yelled the grey-haired witch behind him.

"There's nobody there, Mrs. Atchinson," said an orderly as he rushed past to the flopping fish and swan.

"There's an aquatic Nargle! It wants my dinner!" yelled Mrs. Atchinson.

"No there isn't," said Luna dully. "Nargles don't even exist. Aquatic or terrestrial."

George gave her a small smile. No idea why Luna tried; not only was it none of their business, but Mrs. Atchinson couldn't be reached.

The lineup dispersed as the patients waited for the staff to re-Transfigurate the fish and get the would-be-swan to stop trying to catch and eat her. George briefly considered going back to his yellow and white room, then looked down at Luna, who had slid her back down the wall and sat on the floor with her knees drawn up, arms clasped around them. He sat down next to her, leaned back against the wall, and watched the gasping fish. Only a lunatic Animagus would have a fish as their animal. He wondered if she'd once had another animal form, and it had changed into a fish when she went round the twist, the way some people's Patronus forms changed if they were under stress. Or maybe she had always been crazy, and the fish shape was just a sign of her insanity.

Or maybe she'd been perfectly sane once, and then gone mental after all her years of intense study to become an Animagus had earned her a thoroughly useless form. Who knew. Who really cared.

He briefly wondered if his own Patronus shape had changed. Not much use wondering; he doubted there was a single happy memory he could manage to call up that would enable him to cast a Patronus in this dismal place. And not that he could've, even if he'd been happy as a lark; they'd taken his wand when they'd admitted him.

He glanced at Luna beside him. She'd stopped watching the festivities and put her head in her arms.

"What's wrong?" he asked her gently.

"I don't want to be here any more," said Luna, her voice very small.

George laughed bitterly. "Don't think many of us do. D'you think I'd be here if I had any choice to leave, in any way possible?"

Luna shrank in on herself, hugging her knees, and something about her forlorn figure made George's heart hurt. Which probably meant they'd got his potions wrong, again.

"And how are we doing today, Miss Lovegood, Mr. Weasley?" he started as a bright-eyed young student mediwitch bounced to a stop before them.

"_I_ am feeling like shit," he said curtly. "Think Luna's feeling the same, and I don't give a flying fuck how you're feeling."

The mediwitch's smile dimmed slighly, but remained in place. "You're probably just hungry, dear. Don't worry, we'll get you your dinner soon enough." She flitted down the hallway, where the fish had now been transformed into a reverse mermaid. George watched the skinny legs thrashing and the fish head gulping and absently wished he had enough magic to do something like that. Or do anything on purpose, really.

Luna stirred beside him. "Mrs. Longbottom, it's all right, I have enough," she said, gently pushing away Neville's mum's hand as she held out a cork. Mrs. Longbottom held the cork out again, and Luna sighed and took it. Neville's mum looked at George and reached for his missing ear.

He jerked his head back. "Piss off," he said sharply, and Mrs. Longbottom scooted back in alarm.

"Mum?"

Oh, wonderful.

"Mum, there you are - oh." Neville Longbottom stopped short at the sight of George and Luna with his mum, and it was almost amusing how his throat bobbed as he very obviously tried to figure out how to greet the two of them. "Hello George; Luna. Erm, how are you?"

"All right, Neville, how are you?" said Luna.

Neville's mum turned to him and held out her hand, trembling a bit as she pointed to her ear.

Neville gulped and looked at George. He squared his shoulders. "George, please don't upset my mum," he said.

George blew out his breath and got up, leaving Neville and his mum and Luna, and headed back to his infernally cheery room, stepping around Lockhart and his little choir and jerking his arm away from a choir member's insistent invitation to join them. Thank Merlin they were practicing far enough away from his room that even though he wasn't allowed to close the door their cacophony wouldn't be too audible. The man was an even worse singer than he was an anti-Dark Magic practitioner, if that was possible.

He lay down on his bed with the marigold patchwork bedspread and stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about how much he hated this place.

Because _God_, he hated this place. Hated his family for bringing him here. Hated them and the staff for their misguided attempts to "save" him. And he hadn't figured out which he hated more: the restraints and perpetual family suicide watch that had kept him from hurting himself for the first few days, or the spell they'd finally perfected that made him unable to do so.

"You're doing better now," the Healer had said. "The safety spell on you is solid enough, and your mood has shown some improvement. It's safe for you to be allowed out of your room on your own. And if you behave yourself and work with us, you can earn more privileges. Maybe even being allowed off the ward, with an escort of course."

She'd even looked pleased with herself. Like he should feel grateful. Grateful that he couldn't kill himself, couldn't go anywhere without permission, couldn't escape, and there was nowhere to go even if he did.

He hated this place. The staff might be awfully proud of how they'd met the sudden demand for mental maladies space and expanded the original ward into a bright, clean, homey place where every patient had their own room, but he hated it. Hated the multicoloured hallway, the relentlessly sunny yellow and white bedroom that was like living inside a bloody fried egg, the mediwizards and witches whose joy it was to Be There To Help. Hated the potions forced down his throat. Hated Mum and Dad for their desperation not to lose him like they'd lost Fred, hated Bill for trying to pretend to be so bloody matter-of-fact about the suicide watches, hated Ron for saving his life, hated Percy for the guilt on his face and the tears that ended up in his eyes every single time he saw George. The only person he _didn't_ hate right now was Ginny, who hadn't been to see him at all. Apparently she was angry at him. She was in a lot of pain herself, the Healers had told him. Under pressure at school. She would come when she was feeling steadier, they said.

Not a problem, as far as he was concerned. He had no desire to see anyone, and it had nothing to do with the shame and embarrassment he'd felt the last time he'd been on the ward. He was beyond shame at this point; all he wanted was _out_. Escape, by any means necessary.

He'd struggled so hard against the invisible bonds, and his damned wonky magic had flared out of control, reacting with the magic of the bonds and making the room spark and smoke and fill with the smell of cinnamon, of all bizarre things. They'd had to _Finite_ and use physical straps and by the time they'd finally wrestled him into them he was exhausted and Percy, who'd walked in for his suicide watch shift in the middle of the fun, looked like he wanted to be violently ill. He'd excused himself and come back a little paler but steadier. Lee and Ron and Dad, in on the next watches, hadn't known what to do, what to say to him. Which was fine, actually, as he was wiped out and sweat-soaked and in pain and hollow and didn't feel like chatting much either.

He rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. "Maybe you can't make it," you said, he thought at Fred-in-his-head. How was I supposed to make it if even you thought I couldn't?

_Did you want me to lie to you?_

Why couldn't you just shut up, even after snuffing it? Why do you just have to keep talking?

_I'm sorry,_ said Fred. _Bloody hell, I'm sorry. I'm tired too, you know. It's not easy living in your miserable head. You'd think I would've been able to stop having to take care of you after I was bloody well dead._

So sorry to be such an inconvenience.

_George, fuck, I'm sorry!_

Shut up!

He'd been so ready to die, so desperate to end the misery, held back only by the knowledge that he was going to cause his family pain no matter how obvious it was to everybody that he'd simply made a stupid mistake in the lab. It would still hurt them, he knew, and they would probably still ask themselves if he'd been deliberately careless... but then they would move on. He'd held on to that thought like a talisman. Held on to the hope that his passing would give his family as much freedom as it gave him. They wouldn't have to worry about him, wouldn't have to see him as a permanent reminder of Fred's absence, wouldn't be bogged down by his issues, and would be able to deal with their own grief and finally heal. He and Fred would become a - mostly - happy memory, and there would be Fred and George stories to tell the next generation, just like there had been Gideon and Fabian stories told to his, and hopefully they'd all eventually blur out in their minds the fact that Uncle George had gone a little off after Uncle Fred had kicked.

They'd probably even feel relieved, whether they admitted it to themselves or not.

He'd said goodbye to Ron so gladly that night. Made himself sound like it was just another regular night, See you tomorrow, don't forget to lock up. He'd allowed himself a small goodbye, telling Ron something like, "You've gone beyond brotherly duty," and it hadn't felt great to see slight surprise on Ron's face at that. Proof that George had been such a miserable bastard that he didn't even give his kid brother his due, after everything Ron had done for him.

He'd waited a few minutes, and then gone through all his preparations and drunk the misbrewed potion with relief. No more missing Fred, no more talking to him in his head and wishing he was real, no more worried looks from everyone else, no more being afraid of some day ending up locked up here.

And then he'd woken up. To restraints and weeping family members and Healers who forced potions down his throat. He'd struggled and fought, refused visits, refused potions, refused food, and to no effect; he was either restrained or accompanied by family and force-fed anyway. He'd lost all control over his own life, over his own body and magic and mind, and he swung unpredictably from being unable to give a damn to feeling so angry it was as if he was burning up from the inside. Impotent rage and hatred that made his magic flare unpredictably, crackling around him, causing the staff to dose and restrain him again, making Mum cry. Like there was too much in his body, trying to get out.

He could still hear chaos on the ward. The honking had died down, but Lockheart and his merry crew had apparently decided to regale them all with their artistic efforts, and the other patients weren't taking it well. More delays for dinner. Fine, then. He wasn't hungry anyway. Maybe they'd forget about feeding him and let him bloody well die already.

_You're putting yourself and everyone else through hell,_ said Fred quietly.

So are you. Sodding bastard.

_At least I managed to die before doing it._

D'you want a medal for that?

_That didn't come out right._ There was a pause. _I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault. You wanted to die too. You had a good plan and you did your best. It just didn't work._ Another pause. _Maybe nothing will._

Aren't you a beam of sunshine.

_What are you going to do now?_

Weren't you always the one with ideas?

_I'm all out, mate._ And he hadn't heard Fred-in-his-head sound this sad since... since the day of his own funeral. _I shouldn't even be here to talk to you about this; I'm supposed to be at peace, or at least at rest._ And Fred's voice sounded as full of longing as he felt.

_What do we do, then?_

Stay in bed. Join Lockhart's chorus. I don't know. I don't give a fuck any more.

He clenched his eyes shut, feeling himself start to shake. What with the various potions and charms and treatments and this maddening place, and his own surging magic and turbulent emotions, he lost it so often, broke down so often, that it wasn't anything to be feared any more; only to be endured.

A soft tap on his door startled him, but didn't break the grip of the shaking. "George?" Luna's soft voice called in.

He didn't answer. Luna stepped into his room and sat down on the bed next to him, her small hand on his shoulder.

"Is he there?" Neville's voice seemed to be coming from the hallway.

"Yes," said Luna, stroking his hair.

Footsteps at the door. "Is... is he off his potions?" Neville asked. "D'you think he needs something?"

"He won't ask for anything," said Luna. "He never does."

There was a small silence. "George, I'm going to call the mediwitch and see if she can help you, all right?" asked Neville.

Quick steps to the door, Neville's soft voice calling out, Luna's hand smoothing his cheek, rubbing his back. Another moment and two sets of footsteps approached his door again. He didn't want to move, didn't want to get up, was sick of being buffeted from all sides by pain and fear and anger and hopelessness, like a leaf at the mercy of a violent storm, winds gusting at him in every direction.

"It's all right, you can leave it here," said Neville to the mediwitch. "I'll make sure he takes it."

"All right, Mr. Longbottom."

Luna leaned over him and kissed his cheek. "George. Please take the potion. It'll at least let you rest."

He sighed. It wasn't that he didn't want to. It was that he always either felt too much or not enough, and right now was a not-enough time, and if only everybody would just let him _be_...

"Come on, mate," said Neville quietly. "Sit up." He gently tugged George's shoulder and George gave up trying to ignore him and propped himself up on one elbow. "D'you want me to give it to you, or can you hold it yourself?" asked Neville.

George took the vial and Neville steadied his trembling hand. "Right, bottoms up," he said, and George drank it down.

"Neville?" Ron's voice came from the doorway. George lay back down and closed his eyes.

"He's all right," said Neville. "Don't think he'll be in much shape to visit though; I think this is going to knock him out. Always does that to my dad."

Ron sighed. "All right. Thanks, Nev. You can go back to your parents, if you'd like." George felt the bed shift as Ron sat down.

"It's all right, Dad's having a bad day and Mum's doing wrapper art," said Neville, and then his voice, and Luna's and Ron's, faded, as George fell into the potion-induced darkness gratefully.

**ooo000ooo**

"Weasley."

"Yeah?" Ron looked up from the hospital tea room's unappetizing biscuit selection and stared at the last person he had ever thought he'd have to speak to again. "Malfoy?"

Malfoy hesitated, and then held out a parchment to Ron. "Here."

Ron took it, bemused. "What is this?"

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. "It's... I wasn't sure if you'd been able to contact any Healers outside of here, who might know something about... about your brother."

Ron's heart gave a pang. "What?"

"I know he's in trouble."

"How do you know?"

"Your dad. And I asked my aunt Andromeda. She knows him. She said he... she said a few things, and I thought maybe that this Healer might help."

Ron looked at the parchment. Luam Lethe, it said, and gave a Floo address that wasn't in Britain.

"What's this rubbish?" he asked, and his hand clenched around the parchment in sudden anger. Andromeda? Who the hell did she think she was, blurting out their family's dirty laundry to-

"Don't be angry at my aunt," said Malfoy. "She was only trying to help. She's worried about him."

"Why would you care?" said Harry, approaching to stand at Ron's side and crossing his arms.

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm not sure, to be honest."

Ron glared at him. "I think I can figure it out. This is still about my dad speaking for yours, isn't it?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "No, Weasley, it's not about that. I did it because my aunt was worried about him. I just Flooed Healer Lethe about what I knew about your brother's condition. I haven't paid her, and I certainly don't intend to help you pay her."

"We don't need your bloody Healer," snapped Ron, and shoved the parchment back at Malfoy.

"We can take care of George ourselves," Harry said firmly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Right, then. Good luck with that." He turned to go.

Ron reached out and grabbed him. "You bastard," he hissed, "you just want to rub our faces in-"

"Don't be a paranoid idiot," sneered Malfoy, jerking his arm away. "I don't know why I did it, except my aunt was upset about him. Obviously I shouldn't have bothered."

"You're bloody right you shouldn't have," said Ron.

"And since when are you even in contact with your aunt?" asked Harry.

"Since the war," said Malfoy impatiently. "She likes Weasley's brother - and the rest of you - God knows why. She was worried about him."

"Well you didn't need to stick your nose into our business," said Ron. "We can take care of him on our own."

"That's why he tried to off himself, is it?" Malfoy sneered. "Because you all can take such good care of him?"

Ron drew his breath in, furious. "You bloody-"

"Bastard, yeah. Forget I said anything," said Malfoy, and turned to go again, letting the parchment float to the floor.

"Why did you think your Healer would be any better than what we've already got here?" asked Harry.

Malfoy stopped. "She's not _my_ bloody Healer, Potter. I believe I already told you that."

"What's she got that's any better than what's at St. Mungo's?" said Ron.

"Probably nothing. She's from Nigeria, though, and she has done a lot of work with twins."

Ron blinked. "What?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. "Twins. Are considered lucky and magical in some parts of West Africa. Consequently there are rather more twins in the general African population than in Europe, and even more in the wizarding population. They know a lot about twin issues, apparently." He shrugged. "I've no idea if what's happened to your brother has anything to do with being a twin, but he didn't particularly seem the type to try to commit suicide. So maybe it does."

"Maybe," said Ron grudgingly. "You can keep her though. We don't need her."

"You'll just turn her away, without even letting her see him?"

"We won't take anything that comes from _you_," said Ron.

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment. "I see. Well, that's very noble of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're too proud to accept my help? Even if the only help I give you is a referral?"

"As if you'd accept our help!"

Malfoy gaped at him in disbelief. "Are you really as thick as you look? I went to see your father to see if he could help mine! And you know exactly what my dad thinks of yours! I would've accepted his help in a second, if he'd offered it!"

"Would your dad?" asked Harry.

"Who _cares?_" Malfoy shook his head. "I went to your father for help," he told Ron. "I swallowed my pride for my father's sake. It's quite heartwarming to see that your principles are stronger than your love for your brother."

"That's not what-"

"I suppose he'd be grateful, too, if he found out that you declined help for him because it was suggested by a Malfoy. He's probably having a grand time on the Barmy Ward."

Ron glared at him. "I don't even believe she's a real Healer, Malfoy."

"What?"

"She's probably going to suggest some kind of poison, make him even worse than he is."

"Oh, of course," said Malfoy. "With my entire family facing prison time, this seems like the perfect opportunity to take revenge on you for... what, exactly? Do you honestly think I've got nothing better to do?"

"Maybe revenge for my dad not speaking up for you."

"Right. Yeah. That makes a lot of sense. And nobody would _ever_ figure it out. I wouldn't be putting myself in danger of getting thrown into prison for the rest of my life." Malfoy shook his head. "Bloody lot of idiots, all of you. I only hope your brother's as thick and stubborn as you are. That way if you reject my help and he ends up topping himself, at least I'll know that's what he deserves." He turned and strode away.

Ron clenched his fists to keep from grabbing his wand and reminded himself that, as satisfying as it would be to hex Malfoy into oblivion right now, doing so would almost certainly scrap any chance of ever being accepted back into the Auror program.

He had to do something, though. He took out his wand and pointed it at the parchment on the floor.

"Ron!" Harry grabbed his hand. "Wait. Don't destroy it yet."

"Why the fuck not?"

Harry turned to look at the door swinging shut on Draco Malfoy. "Look, mate, I can't believe I'm saying this, but...what if this Healer could help George? What if you missed the opportunity to make George well again, just because you didn't trust Malfoy?"

"Malfoy, actually helping anyone?" Ron scoffed. "Maybe you need to be locked up on the Thickey Ward yourself."

"Maybe. But maybe you should talk this over with your family anyway." He paused. "And with George."

George. Ron closed his eyes, a wave of sorrow washing over him at the thought of his brother, depressed and angry and hopeless and dying. George, his body limp, his head falling back as Ron pinched his nostrils closed to breathe for him. He stared down the corridor where Malfoy had disappeared, and then at the parchment on the floor.

**ooo000ooo**


	8. Lethe

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for your wonderful reviews, yesimreviewingyou, Mandy, chocolatefanatic, and silverbirch :) :)

**January (ctd)**

"George has allowed me to speak to you about his diagnosis," said Healer Luam Lethe to the gathered Weasleys, and Ron had to suppress an eye roll at that. Though he supposed 'allowed' sounded much nicer than admitting George simply didn't give a damn.

"Before I begin, I would ask that you not blame the St. Mungo's staff for missing this. Healer Radstone and Healer Adams are highly competent, but they do not have the background that I do. I specialize in twin magic in Nigeria, and I have only seen this three times myself, though I have heard of three other cases in Cameroon." She paused. "The problem is not with George. Or rather, it is, but it is not entirely him. It has to do with what Mr. Malfoy suspected: twin magic. Broken twin magic."

"What does that mean?" asked Dad.

"It is magical mismanagement. Failure to separate." Lethe paused. "I'm not sure if you are aware of this - many wizards aren't - but identical twins begin as one being. One body, one mind, one source of magic. They become two beings fairly early, and the body and mind manage to divide without much trouble. But magic is different. For lack of a better explanation, imagine magic as an aura that develops in fits and starts throughout childhood, but begins before the embryo even splits into two separate beings."

"Em...bry-o?" said Mum.

"I'm sorry, Muggle term. It's a baby that is not yet formed enough to be viable outside of the womb, or to be considered a person, according to some people."

"Is it a person or not?"

"Some wizards believe it is not, because its magic has not formed properly yet, but then again, some wizard embryos never develop their own magic. I believe you call them Squibs here? And nobody would think of not considering them persons after they are born." She cleared her throat. "In the case of most twins, eventually their magic also fully separates. Your sons had a very strong bond, though. Most twins are close, but they were especially so. While many twins find being mistaken for one another irritating, and are eager to establish themselves as separate, especially during their teenage years, some, like your boys, relish the closeness, and even think of themselves as one person. Your boys were very close as children, closer than most twins, because of your family situation and because of their own temperaments. And after they became adults, when their magic could have finally completed the separation, they went into a magic-intensive business, in a magic-intensive building, living together and spending almost all of their time together, constantly using their magic. Their magic had no chance to separate. And when a pair this close is suddenly separated by death, it can be very difficult for the one left behind."

"It's difficult for everyone," said Percy.

"Twins especially, though. We have customs that help twins to avoid the situation George is experiencing right now. In many West African communities, it is customary for a surviving twin to remain in the place where their twin's life ended, for a few weeks, if possible. There is powerful magic in a place of death. This is why ghosts often remain in the same place they died, yes?"

Ron nodded, a brief vision of Myrtle and her toilet floating through his mind rather inappropriately.

"I believe that George sensed, instinctively, that he needed to stay where Fred had died. There were strong traces of Fred's magic at Hogwarts, and it could have helped George. If it had been impossible to stay there, it might have helped if George had gone directly to their flat, or to their shop. But you do not have the same customs, and so he went to your home instead. By the time he went to his shop, things had deteriorated to a point that Fred's magic there was not strong enough to deal with the situation. In any case, he spent most of his time in the laboratory, where all of the products being created came mostly from his own magic, and not in the shop itself, which still had a large amount of Fred's magic in it."

"What process? What had deteriorated?" asked Mum.

"What needed to happen?" asked Percy.

"He needed to separate from Fred's magic. He needed to lose the part of Fred that was still within him."

"You mean... a piece of Fred's... soul?" said Ron. "Is in George?"

"Well, I do not necessarily consider the soul and magic to be the same thing, mainly because that would mean Muggles don't have souls. But if you wish to see it that way, then yes. He has a part of Fred's soul still within him."

"Ron?" said Ginny.

Ron blinked rapidly, then realized his entire family was staring at him and wondered if he looked as completely ill as he felt. "Erm. Sorry. This is... I think I've heard something like this before. Didn't have to do with twins though."

Lethe squinted at him. "I have heard rumours of powerful dark magic that can split a person's soul. I suppose this could be something like that-"

"No," Ron said brusquely. "It's nothing like that." He shook himself. "So he's... suffering from his magic not separating from Fred's, then?"

Lethe nodded. "He has been getting worse and worse, essentially living with a piece of Fred's soul within himself. This is not sustainable."

"Why not?" asked Dad. "What's wrong with still having part of Fred's soul?"

"That Fred himself is gone. Magic calls to itself. This part of Fred's soul knows he _isn't_ part of George, and is trying to get back to itself. And it is taking George along with it."

"What?" gasped Mum.

"Had George remained at Hogwarts, or perhaps gone to Wheezes straightaway, Fred's magic would have found itself and faded away. But he didn't. He left Hogwarts and went to The Burrow, a place that had only small traces of Fred's magic. And then... the part of Fred's soul has been pulling him ever since."

"Is that why he imagined he could hear Fred's voice?" asked Mum, shaken. "He was really hearing him, all along?"

"But... Fred wouldn't..." Dad began, shaking his head. "Fred would never hurt George. I can't believe he'd-"

"This is not truly Fred, sir. It is only part of him. It isn't truly sentient, in the way we normally understand sentience. George could 'hear' Fred mostly because they were so close that he had always been able to understand what Fred himself was not always conscious of." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "This part of Fred's soul is probably quite conflicted, itself. It wants and needs to fade away to nothing, but it cares about George, and does not wish to harm him. And for George this is a very difficult pull to resist, considering the fact that he would probably be feeling a great deal of hopelessness about his own life even without this additional problem."

"What can you do for him? How can he get better?" asked Mum.

Lethe sighed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but I cannot say until I have had more of a chance to spend time with George and see how much of Fred is left. And see how much this has damaged George's own magic... and George himself."

**ooo000ooo**

"This all sounds rather bleak," said Percy as Healer Lethe concluded her preliminary report. He was visiting George, who hadn't objected when the Healer had asked if it was all right to speak with him present. Because who cared, really. It wasn't like his family had ever had any sense of privacy even in the best of times, and the concept had entirely gone out the window with George's hospitalization.

"I've seldom seen a bond this strong," Lethe said, "and I have worked with many twins. A strong bond would normally be a very good thing. The more powerful the bond, the better magic works; it becomes greater than the sum of its parts. The success of your shop, for example; there was a great deal of hard work and creativity that went into, but it also benefited from the strength of your combined magic. Upon the death of one of the twins, however..."

Tell me something new, George wanted to say, but couldn't be arsed to. He gazed out the window of the small corner of the common room that the Healer had brought them to. Somebody had spelled the windows to show a lakeside beach in summer, of all things. Judging from Percy's heavy robes, it was freezing cold outside, but outside this window, teenagers were playing Mermaid Madness in the shallow water. It was pretty enough, but in terms of not confusing some of the poor sods who lived on this floor...

"So I take it a strong bond isn't a good thing in terms of making George better?" asked Percy.

"Unfortunately, no."

"How do you quantify the strength of the bond?"

"Partly by magical means, measuring George's aura, seeing how much of his magic is being interfered with, and examining Wheezes products he has made since Fred's death. Partly by talking to all of you. There are also other tests..."

George yawned, not terribly interested. Funny how having tried to off oneself, and being locked up inside the Nutter Ward, markedly diminished one's ability to give a damn about anything. Some days he didn't even bother to get out of bed, though he did have to admit that having someone who might know how to help was making him feel a bit better despite everything.

"...did already know before talking to you that it was likely to be fairly strong," Lethe was saying, and George tried to show some semblance of interest. "Just because of you being here, and knowing a few basic facts about your life circumstances. Normally the separation of magic is helped along by events that change a person's aura, especially rites of passage having to do with growth. The basic ones we track are puberty, age of majority, living apart, loss of virginity, marriage, and the birth of the first child. So that would mean that you - unless either of you was secretly married or had fathered children?" George shook his head. "You only had three of the major six rites of passage, so-"

"Two," George corrected her dully.

"Pardon?"

"Puberty and age of majority. Fred was a virgin when he died. So am I."

There was an awkward pause. "You are twenty years old."

"I noticed. Late bloomers. Thanks for pointing it out, by the way."

"What..."

"We'd both done just about everything but," said George, and smiled slightly, remembering Fleur's Veela cousins. "But neither one of us had found anyone special yet." And bloody hell, of all the times they could have chosen to listen to Mum's advice, they had to listen to her when she told them to be gentlemen when it came to girls.

"Why should it matter?" Percy asked Lethe.

"It doesn't always. In places where living apart is not accompanied by much change in status, that milestone does not affect separation of magical auras very much." Lethe paused. "Did this matter to you?"

George lowered his head. "Yeah. It did." He sighed deeply. "You know, if Fred wasn't already dead, I'd kill him."

"Why?"

"Oh..." George thought for a long moment. Then he shrugged. "He'd probably kill me for sharing, but that would be a neat trick." He took a deep breath. "After I lost my ear, he was... he was different. We didn't talk about it much, but it upset him. One night I decided I'd had enough of him being all careful and quiet," George had to smile at Percy's reaction to his description of Fred as quiet, "and said we were going to go out." He bit his lip. "And try to pull."

"I take it you didn't," said Percy.

"He talked me out of it. Gallant sod. Didn't do either of us any good, apparently."

"And not since?"

"Since Fred died, and I spent weeks at The Burrow and then worked day and night at the shop and got hospitalized twice? Surprisingly, no. Dating opportunities have been few and far between."

Percy nodded. "There's plenty of time for that kind of thing. I'm sure you'll meet a nice girl some day and-"

"In here?" George blinked. "Well there's Marie Antoinette, she keeps begging me to play Louis XVI with her. And there's Phylicia, she's a wonderful girl - thinks she's a teapot most of the time, of course - but quite charming. You can probably fill in your own brewing and warming up and pouring innuendos without me. That's a smashing idea, Perce. Probably shouldn't say 'smashing' around Phylicia though. Not if I hope to get lucky with her, anyway." He chuckled bitterly. "In the meantime, I'll just stay pissed off at Fred."

"You know, anger at the person who has died is often a normal part of mourning," said Lethe. George rolled his eyes. "I will do a bit more work and finish testing a few more Wheezes. I will see you in a week or so, with my prognosis and recommendations." She got up and excused herself.

George watched the door swing shut behind her. "I swear if that woman says 'It's a normal part of the grieving process' one more time I'll..." he trailed off.

"You'll what?" asked Percy.

George chuckled. "Come to think of it, it might be that she's a brilliant Healer and this is all part of her master plan. Because I was about to say I'll stop thinking of slitting my own wrists and concentrate on trying to slit hers."

Percy made a small sound of distress. "How can you joke about that?"

"Hey, days when suicide is a passing thought are pretty good days."

"Why is that?"

"Because then it passes," George said tersely.

He gazed out at the beach, at the children playing around the bushes, and wondered where the scene he was watching came from. Somewhere not British, from the preponderance of dark hair and light brown skin on the children playing. Looked like somewhere he wouldn't mind going.

He touched the window thoughtfully. "You know, it's too bad we never had a wake for Fred," he mused. "He would've wanted one. A party. I couldn't, at the time, but it doesn't seem right to never have done it at all."

"It's all right. I'm sure he would've understood." Percy paused. "I wish he was here right now," he said, his voice low. "It's for bloody sure he'd be a lot more help here than I am."

George looked away from him. "You know... back when I said... what I said, to you, at The Burrow." Percy nodded; it wasn't as though either of them needed George to repeat it. "I didn't just wish that about you. I've wished all of you had, at one point or another. I'd look at Mum and Dad and think, we would've missed them, but you know you have to lose your parents some day. Bill, Charlie, Ron, Ginny – all of you. I felt like shit, thinking that about the people who loved me."

Percy sighed. "You're not shit. You're human."

"Don't feel like I am any more. I feel like I'm... half alive, not even that. I can't concentrate on anything, _everything's_ wrong. I don't know who I am and I don't know what to do, and I don't know how to get rid of this and I'm starting to hate him, really hate him. I'm going mental - which isn't a long trip, I know, but it's scary." He turned away from the beach scene and dropped his head into his hands. "God, I can't live here for the rest of my life," he said, his voice muffled.

Percy cleared his throat nervously. "The Healer will have a recommendation in just a few days. Things will get better after that."

"Yeah? What if they don't?"

**ooo000ooo**

_"And she wanted to?" Lee had said eagerly._

_"Yeah."_

_"And you didn't," said George._

_Fred had blinked. "Didn't want to? I think everything's in working order, of course I wanted to."_

_"But you didn't do it?"_

_"Why not?" Lee had asked, baffled._

_"Because... I dunno, I just think it should mean more than just having fun. It's supposed to be something you do with somebody you love. It's supposed to be, I dunno, special." Fred had gone from pale to pink to maroon by the end, and George and Lee had teased him mercilessly for days. It hadn't been until Fred had muttered something like, 'See if I ever say anything sensitive around you two wankers again' that they'd relented._

_"No, come on, we're just having fun," said George._

_"So why do I feel like Percy around here lately?"_

_George choked, but tried to keep the smirk off his face. "Right, no, serious face here," he said. "Fine, we'll quit yanking your wand. Besides, I think the same thing. I'd like to, but... I can wait."_

_"Not like you'll get the chance," Fred said, still somewhat peeved._

_George narrowed his eyes. "Yeah? Who got to feel up Margie Petrie last year?"_

_"Last year? I dunno, that was so long ago. Who got to feel up Angelina last week?"_

_"I dunno, I heard it was some poor pathetic git who hadn't even snogged anyone until last week."_

_Lee crowed with laughter and Fred threw a pillow in George's general direction._

_"Shut up."_

_"I would have to say this round goes to George," said Lee._

_"You shut up too," muttered Fred, chuckling despite himself._

**ooo000ooo**

Well, there you go, thought George, as he panted underneath Marie Antoinette. One more thing that wasn't supposed to happen the way it did. Score one for Rites of Passage. He helped Marie get off his lap and started to pull up his trousers.

"Oh now that was spectacular." Marie pulled her ruffled knickers back up and re-tied her corset. She yawned. "The Earth didn't exactly move, did it, Milord?"

"Not really," said George.

"Anyone would think you were a bloody virgin."

"I was."

Marie laughed derisively. "Right."

He shrugged, pulling his shirt back on.

"You're not serious. Really?"

"Yeah."

Marie raised her pencil-thin eyebrows. "So. Everything you'd hoped it would be?"

"No." He stood and buttoned his trousers, tucking in his shirt.

"Cheeky. I would've expected more thanks from a young boy I just initiated into manhood."

He laughed humourlessly. "You didn't initiate anything. I've been a man for a while. Just hadn't had sex. Now I have. Thanks, by the way." He left her room, heading for the shower. He quickly stripped down and stepped into the hot water, and sighed in appreciation as the water sluiced away Marie's cloying vanilla perfume.

_So, was that what you wanted?_

He shrugged, rinsing his hair.

_Why?_

Why not?

_You wanted to wait for someone special._

She's certainly special, mate. Not a lot of birds literally believe they're a reincarnated French Queen, yeah?

_Special in a _good_ way, George._

He slid down the wall of the shower stall and sat on the floor, arms around his knees, eyes closed and face turned up into the comforting spray.

_George?_

You waited. Didn't do you much good, did it?

**ooo000ooo**

_"No, seriously. Let's go get drunk. It's been a while."_

_"Nah, I'm going to bed," said Fred._

_"It's Friday night."_

_"Delivery tomorrow at eight," Fred reminded him. "Go on your own, if you want to."_

_"Without you? Not a chance. I can't pull on my own, I'm earless!"_

_Fred's eyebrows went up. "You're going to pull?"_

_"Why not? Might as well. The end is nigh, eat drink and be merry and... do other things, and all that, right?"_

_"Like what other things?"_

_George grew serious. "I don't think I want to die a virgin."_

_Fred's mouth dropped open._

_George smirked. "What? You do?"_

_"You're not going to die, Lugless," Fred said slowly._

_"I could've." George moved to the window, looking out at Diagon's busy night-time bustle below. "So could you."_

_"You're not going to die."_

_"Can you guarantee that?"_

_"I'll kick your arse and take off your other ear if you do, and they'll have to bury you earless."_

_George laughed._

_"Look, if being afraid of death is the only reason you want to go find somebody tonight-"_

_"That's not the only reason," said George._

_"What else?"_

_"Come on, mate, you're not that much of a monk. It's been a tough year. It's going to get tougher. Seize the day, you know? And enjoy what life gives you. And unless Lee - and everybody else - is a hell of a liar, we've been missing out on a very nice part of life for nineteen years."_

_"We'll have time for that," Fred said quietly. "I want it to be with someone I love. Or even someone I like. Not some anonymous tart I meet at the Leaky because my earless brother's suddenly gained respect for the concept of death and I don't want him to forever lord it over me that he's Done It and I haven't." He stirred his tea. "If you want to, go ahead. I'm staying home. The reasons I had are just the same now as they were before."_

_George blew out his breath and sat back down. "Fine. I don't really want to anyway."_

_Fred smirked._

_"All right, yes I want to. I won't, though."_

_"Nineteen's not that old, you know," said Fred._

_"We're almost twenty."_

_"Yeah, and wizards live a bloody long time," said Fred. "We've already done loads more than most people our age. So what if we haven't done that one particular thing? We've got plenty of time."_

**ooo000ooo**

So, he wasn't crazy after all, mused George as he stared out the window of the Janus Thickey Ward onto a scene of people skiing down a dark slope. Looked like somewhere in Scandinavia, maybe. He was relatively sane; he just had part of a dead twin embedded in his brain and that was part of what was making him want, so badly, to die. He wasn't crazy, and he shouldn't be here, locked up among blokes who tried to eat the furniture, or birds who thought they were kitchenware. He shouldn't be next door neighbour to a handsome, charming idiot who signed his name onto anything that stood still long enough, and he shouldn't have Neville's mum giving him gum wrappers. He shouldn't be here; he should be out there, living his pointless life.

No, he shouldn't. He should be with Fred - the real Fred, not Fred-in-his-head.

Instead, he was locked up for his own protection, because of Fred. He hated Fred, sometimes. For leaving behind a complete mess. For doing his part in not allowing them to separate while they were alive, and for not somehow letting George know that he had to stay at Hogwarts until Fred was well and truly gone. For making George who he was, since who he was didn't work at all without Fred.

"George?" said Luna softly, coming into the empty common room.

George didn't turn from the window. "Yeah?"

"I don't want to be alone," she said. "Can I sit here?" George nodded absently. "Good. I think there are Grindylows in my sink."

George looked at her askance. "Really?"

"No, not really. Dad thinks so, though. I don't think they'll be letting him out any time soon."

She drew a chair close to him and sat down, gazing at the skiers with interest.

She was so crazy. So bloody crazy. And Fred had liked her. Which was probably why George found himself attracted to her these days. Same with Angelina, and Hermione. Fred's unconscious desires, making themselves known through George. Thanks, mate.

Then again, the pleasant feeling he got around Luna was pretty much the only bright spot in this stupid ward. And crazy as she was, her fears and anxieties were pretty normal compared to other people here.

George leaned his forehead against the window. "Nobody's going to be letting me out any time soon either," he said.

"You never know," said Luna.

"I wouldn't let me out if I were them."

"Don't sound so hopeless," Luna said. "There's always hope."

"Why are you here, then?"

"Because my Dad doesn't think there's hope, and that scares me. Because sometimes I don't either." She paused. "Some days, like today."

"Thought you were supposed to be released again tomorrow," he said.

"I am. Only I don't know how long I'll stay out this time."

George nodded.

"The Quibbler's going under, you know."

George turned to look at her. "Is it?"

"Yes," she said, still gazing out the window. "Despite that article you helped to write on the Oily Ooliphaunt. It was immensely popular, you know. Daddy was very pleased, even though he still thinks we're wrong and it does exist." She sighed. "But then he thought the parchment makers we used were trying to resurrect You-Know-Who through Cartoon Magic, and the next issue didn't come out, and now..." she trailed off.

"I'm glad I could help, for what it's worth," said George. "It was interesting."

"Was it?" Luna tilted her head at him. "I'd thought you might be bored."

"No, I always liked doing research."

She nodded. "You're very good at it. Have you done a lot?"

"Mostly for Wheezes. Although I found myself doing some research with Hermione for myself, when my magic went wonky."

"Did you figure it out?"

"No, and we never would've. It was the Fred thing."

Luna nodded. "Ah, yes, I suppose so."

He watched a skier take a tumble and thought of Hermione and the odd interest he'd felt for her, in the Hogwarts library. Well, that was one feeling at least that could be safely ascribed to Fred and put away. Luna was quirky and unique and he might have felt some attraction to her all on his own, without Fred's influence. Hermione had never been more than a friend to him. Besides, she was Ron's girl, and had helped bring him into the hospital the day he'd tried to kill himself; out of his league, in every conceivable way.

"Do you really hear your brother's voice, then?" asked Luna.

"Close enough, yeah."

"Is it comforting at all?"

"Sometimes."

She leaned against him. "I heard my mum once, you know. I heard her voice beyond the veil, in the Department of Mysteries." She gazed back out at the skiiers. "I heard her," she repeated, and he wondered which one of them she was trying to convince. "The ones who love us never really leave us, Harry told me once."

George's lips twitched in a half-smile. "D'you know who said that to Harry?"

"Who?"

"Sirius Black."

"That's not encouraging," said Luna after a few moments, and for some reason all of a sudden George felt like a bit of a prick. Why had he said that to her? If it helped her to think that way, why not just let her? Who was he to decide what other crazy people should or shouldn't believe? He put an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder comfortingly.

"I know you've had sex with some of the women here," said Luna.

George blinked. "Erm. Yeah?"

"Why haven't you asked me?" asked Luna, and he looked down at her, surprised.

"You? But you're a friend," he blurted. "And you know about the undead-Fred thing; I don't even know if I really want you, or if it's only that Fred did."

Luna blinked. "Did he?"

George opened his mouth and then closed it. "I - yeah, okay, he found you attractive. I don't know if that's why I do. Now. Find you attractive, that is." Merlin, being institutionalized and sort of possessed by your dead twin and trying to have a conversation with Luna Lovegood meant you had no chance of making _any_ sense whatsoever.

"So you are? Attracted to me?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," said George.

"Well, I'm here now. And I keep having to come into the hospital, over and over. I don't know if I'll ever be out of this place for good. I don't know whether I will ever do it. Have sex, that is. With anyone."

"It's really not that big a deal," said George wryly, thinking of all the empty kisses and meaningless embraces he'd had in the corners and broom closets of the ward in the last little while.

"It could be," said Luna. "If it was with a friend."

"Maybe."

She put a hand on his arm. "I'm a friend. I care about you. You care about me."

This was rapidly getting out of hand. "Erm."

"I don't know if it's you or Fred who's attracted to me, but I know there's something there. Do you want to see where it might go?"

George found himself nodding, bemused, and then Luna was moving into his arms. He looked around briefly, seeing if any of the staff were about, but the coast was clear. Mr. Willikins from Room 3 had apparently done his Voldemort Was My Minion And You All Will Die thing again; the mediwizards were likely to leave easy cases like Luna and himself to their own devices for a while.

"I don't know if this is..."

"Shh," said Luna, kissing him. "Don't think."

It actually felt good, holding her. She smelled fresh and clean, the institutional soap they all used overlaid with something like peppermint, and she wasn't likely to start singing _La Marseillaise_ at the top of her voice, like Marie had. Nor suddenly become convinced that her skin was disappearing. That was the nice thing about the world of the Janus Thickey Ward: being a suicidally depressed walking mausoleum, or pathologically anxiety-ridden like Luna, was really not all that impressive in the grand scheme of the place.

Luna stood up, holding out her hand, and he stood too, taking it. They made their way to her room, and she closed the door behind her.

"Huh. Mine doesn't close for me," George noted.

"They don't worry about what I'm doing when they can't see me," said Luna. She pulled him closer, took his mouth again, and he melted into her embrace. She stroked his face, her breath coming faster, her eager hands everywhere, and it all felt good, nothing but good - no self-disgust, no sense that he was losing out on yet another thing that should have been wonderful and had instead become nothing but weary plodding through a meaningless act. Just warmth and tingling and the taste of Luna's mouth and a rush of excitement, and joy, coursing through a body that seemed to have forgotten how to feel anything remotely joyful in months.

She lay back onto her bed and pulled him down with her, on top of her, and he smiled as she gasped at the hardness between them. He nuzzled her neck and rocked against her, his body clamouring for release, and ran a hand down to her waist - and then pulled back. "I - no wait," he panted. "Hang on."

"What?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Why would you hurt me?" she said, reaching down.

"Luna." He took a breath, stilling her hand on his fly, forcing himself to ignore the ache that told him to shut up already and just go with it. "Don't you want your first time to be something special?"

Luna nodded.

"I did too," he told her gently. "And after I'd done it, and it wasn't how I'd wanted it to be, I regretted it."

"I won't regret you," said Luna, and kissed the side of his head, near where his ear should have been, sending a shiver down his spine. "I always wanted it to be with somebody who cared about me. Somebody who wouldn't mind that I was different. Somebody who wanted to be with me, not necessarily forever." She pulled him close again. "Someone like you."

George felt his chest tighten. He kissed her, caressing her hair, and moaned as she slipped a hand into his trousers.

"I've never seen one," she said. "Can I?"

He chuckled breathlessly. "Bit difficult not to, unless we could make it dark in here, and considering we're not allowed wands..." He helped her unbutton his trousers, and sighed as the pressure eased a bit. She touched him carefully. He caught his breath as her stroking fingers drew another shiver from him, and tried to stay grounded enough to slip her remaining clothing off of her gently. He drank in the sight of her, her small breasts heaving, her long hair spread out on the bed, her head thrown back as she pressed herself into his touch.

"Mmm," she hummed happily, then reached down to encircle him with her hand. "It's a lot warmer than I thought. A lot harder." She stroked him, and a groan escaped him. "Does that feel good?"

He laughed and kissed her again. "Oh, you have no idea. Oh! Oh, God, yeah. Very good."

It was so incredibly different, being with her. She was so forthright, and eager to learn, and it was so different, doing this with somebody he actually gave a damn about. She had him laughing with her observations ("I_ knew_ they didn't actually turn blue!"), amused at her high-pitched keen when he first tongued her nipple, and charmed by her well-meaning attempts to reciprocate ("But I'm sure I read that was an erogenous zone!"). And when he finally entered her and she gave a slight cry of pain, he caught his breath.

"God, Luna, you all right?"

"Oh yes!" she said. "That didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought - ooh, that's quite nice, isn't it?"

He pulled her close, keeping himself from going too fast, and part of him noted that all the pointless fucking around he'd done in the last little while might not have helped with his little possession problem, and might have felt cheap and tawdry and disappointing, but it wasn't a total loss, if it had taught him enough to be able to make this good for Luna.

And then she was urging him on, putting all her passion and enthusiasm into their kisses and caresses, thrusting up against him and letting go completely, and it was impossible for him not to do the same. He groaned at the feel of her small hands pulling him closer, her warm mouth locking with his, her odd blue eyes closing with delight at what he was doing to her, and thrust hard into her, feeling her body tightening around him. And it was a bloody good thing her door closed, because she was rather loud as she reached completion, and then, to his surprise, so was he, as he was pulled along and let himself do nothing but _feel_-

"Isn't this worth holding on to?" asked Luna quietly, a long time later, as they rested together. "If you can still enjoy things, doesn't it make you feel like trying to get better?"

George tucked her hair back behind her ear and smiled at her. "It's worth a lot." He had to drop his gaze. "Dunno if it's enough, but it is worth a lot."

She snuggled against him, a contented smile on her lips, and he stroked her hair and tried to not think.

_That wasn't so bad, was it?_

Oh God Fred, not now.

_She didn't make weird chirping sounds, she never once mentioned Peenpoppies..._

You're the one who wanted her, not me.

_Looked like there was quite a bit of you doing the wanting a few minutes ago, mate. And if you're going to blame me for your sex life, isn't it nicer to blame me for leading you to her bed, rather than the bed of Teapot Woman?_

D'you know something? I have it on good authority that it's only me putting words in your mouth; you're about as sentient as a satsuma. I'm not going to listen to you any more.

He held Luna tightly, and closed his eyes.

**ooo000ooo**

_Dad had had The Talk with all of them at age twelve. Well. No, not really. Dad had The Talk with Bill, and Bill, dutiful big brother that he was, had filled each of the rest of them in at the appropriate time. Except in Fred and George's case, Dad had felt he needed to step in and provide a bit more guidance. Who knew why, but he seemed to feel they couldn't be trusted. Shocking, that._

_"You're going to become men, soon," he said, after asking them to come to his shed and help him rebuild a lawn mower. "And sometimes it'll be frustrating and difficult." He examined the blades, marvelling at the way they fit together perfectly, without the use of magic or even eckeltricity. "You're going to feel things and want to do things, and as long as you're not hurting anyone, it's fine. George, lift that piece up, there. I think it's supposed to push the blades around, but it's not moving. What you think and feel and dream, you don't have any control over, so there's no need to be embarrassed. Besides, believe me, other boys are thinking and feeling and dreaming the same things. Fred, can you maybe try to see if that black bit is supposed to go there - careful! Those blades are sharp!"_

_George had exchanged an amused look with Fred._

_"You do have to be careful, though," said Dad._

_"I'm not doing anything-" Fred began, and Dad shook his head._

_"No, not with the turny-whatsis blades. I mean with girls. Your Mum and I have raised you to be respectful of girls. Every girl you see, whatever you _want_ to do to her is fine. You don't need to be ashamed of feeling it, but before you actually do anything about it, remember that girl is somebody's daughter. Possibly somebody's sister. Whatever you're going to do, before you do it, ask yourself whether you would be able to face her older brothers with a clear conscience afterwards. Imagine each girl has six older brothers, and think about what you would do to any boy who tried any of that with Ginny."_

_"Merlin, Dad, that's a mental image I really don't think we need," said Fred, grimacing._

_"Yeah, that alone is probably enough to put anybody off doing anything," George said, feeling vaguely ill._

_Dad laughed. "Excellent. Keep it, then. Oh! That's what was stuck!" He took a clump of grass out from between two of the blades, and they all had to jump back as the blades suddenly spun free, and the lawn mower zoomed right off the table and into a very bewildered microwave._

**ooo000ooo**

The head mediwitch strode briskly into George's room. "Mr. Weasley...oh dear." She blinked at Molly and Arthur. "Erm, I'm sorry, would you mind giving us some privacy here?"

"Actually, I'm pretty tired," said George with an indifferent glance at his parents. "They can go."

Arthur's heart sank, but he started to stand. Not much point being here if George didn't want them here. Then again, he never seemed to want them here.

"But we just got here," Molly started to protest.

"No, you don't have to leave the building, only the room, for a few minutes," said the mediwitch. "This is of a delicate personal nature."

"Well they're not terribly delicate and they don't much care about personal," said George dryly.

The mediwitch glanced at her watch and blew out her breath. "Very well, then. Mr. Weasley, we have to ask you to stop engaging in relations with the other patients."

Arthur and Molly blanched, and George snorted. "Oh yeah? Why?"

"It's disruptive to the ward."

George shrugged. "Your ward. Your problem."

Arthur took a breath. All right, they really should go. Molly shouldn't be here to listen to this, shouldn't have to hear their son sounding so callous and uncaring about any girl - let alone girls who were in trouble, as his fellow patients were.

This wasn't George. They'd raised him better than that. George was sick, he wasn't himself, but they were still his parents, and shouldn't be hearing this. He rose and tugged on Molly's sleeve, but Molly shook her head.

"They're not well," said the mediwitch. "Ms Lovegood has been released, but Ms Simpson is as you know very unstable, and can be violent. Ms Edwards is not herself, and Ms Dochuk-"

"Thinks she's a teapot, I know. How is that my problem?"

"We'd like you to help your fellow patients feel safe here."

"Listen, if you're going to ask me to not do one of the only entertaining things around here, I'd say you need to start by asking them not to drop into my lap several times a day. Not only is safeguarding their virtue not my problem, but I'm not a monk, yeah?"

"You can politely ask them to not attempt to engage you in-"

"And you're even more mental than I am if you think I'm going to do that. If you give them some sort of potion or something, I'll stay away from them, no problem."

"We can't, sir. Ms Edwards, yes. Ms Simpson has refused the potion and we cannot force it on her, and Ms Dochuk is on potions that would react negatively to the libido-inhibitor."

"Then I'd say you're screwed. Or rather..." he smirked. "No, I probably don't need to say it, do I?"

"It wouldn't interfere with your potions."

"What wouldn't?"

"The libido-inhibitor."

George paused. "Would it mean I can't do anything, or I just wouldn't want to?"

"You wouldn't want to."

George shrugged. "Fine, then."

"What?" the mediwitch asked, looking a bit nonplussed at his abrupt change of attitude.

"I said all right. The only girl I was all that interested in is gone for now anyway. D'you have some?"

"Erm. Yes." The mediwitch held out a small vial and held it out to him.

Arthur glanced at Molly, reflecting that in any kind of normal situation Molly would've jumped at the chance to find out more, and to hope that maybe George could find love and ease his pain through that, if nothing else. But Arthur couldn't imagine a single girl here who would actually be good for George - or who might benefit from having George in her life either, for that matter.

"Mud in your eye," George said dully, and knocked back the contents of the vial.

"When will Healer Lethe have her recommendation?" asked Molly, striving for a casual tone despite the spots of colour on her cheeks.

"The day after tomorrow."

"I can hardly contain my excitement," muttered George.

"Your family has asked to be involved in the meeting. And I would like to recommend they be there as well. Healer Lethe has determined that you are competent to make medical decisions on your own, but she would like you to listen very carefully to what your family says."

"Fine." George shrugged. "I couldn't care less."

**ooo000ooo**

"Essentially, we need to remove the piece of Fred's soul - or magic, however you wish to think of it - that is caught within you. The English translation of the name of the ritual is the Sundering."

"Remove Fred's magic or soul," repeated George. "Right, I think we all figured that."

"It's not that easy, though. It's... frankly, it's very difficult. Your reserves are quite low, from having been fighting this as well as natural grief for so long. It will be painful, physically and emotionally, it will take a long time, and in the end you may not be much better off than you are now."

"Fantastic," said George wearily.

"Why wouldn't he be better off?" asked Mum.

"Because the process itself will be so difficult, and once it is over, he will still be feeling the aftereffects of the procedure, and the aftereffects of having had a dying soul inside him. And Fred's 'voice' will be gone. It will be as though he died again."

George winced.

"And the natural grief is bad enough, even without everything else added on top." She paused. "As well, George lost a part of himself, literally. His soul is damaged, and there is nothing we can do about that because that part of him went with Fred."

"What are the odds against me?" asked George.

"The likelihood of surviving the Sundering ritual and the first year following it is somewhere between forty and sixty per cent."

There was a horrified silence.

"That's not acceptable," said Mum.

"No, it's not," said Healer Lethe.

"What about doing nothing?" asked George.

"You will die," Lethe said. "Within a year." Mum covered her mouth in dismay. "There is one other alternative."

"What?"

"I can remove the piece of Fred's magic, and also remove his memory from you. Remove all influence of him on you."

"What?"

"It is called the Reawakening. I have seen it done twice in Nigeria, and have read of one other case where it was done in Cameroon. It is an extraordinarily tricky piece of magic, and takes a long time to perform. In essence what happens is that we cast a spell to discover what you would have been like if you had never been a twin. When you awaken from the spell, the piece of Fred's magic that was in you will be gone. And so will all memory of him, all knowledge of having had a twin brother."

George stared at her.

"You would be who you would have been if you had grown up a singleton."

"That's impossible," said Ginny.

"False memories, you mean?" asked Hermione.

"I suppose you could think of them that way, yes. I suppose it is a bit like what Obliviators do: manufacture what could have happened instead of what a witness actually witnessed. But of course, much, much more detailed and tricky."

"That's ridiculous," said Ginny. "You can't do that for an entire lifetime."

"On the contrary; Ms Granger told me she was able to manufacture an entire fictitious life for her parents. One in which their own daughter did not exist."

"And it was hellish, reversing that," said Hermione. She bit her lip, and glanced at George apologetically.

"What are the odds on surviving that spell?" asked Ginny.

"Close to one hundred per cent success, if the literature can be believed. All three of the patients who have undergone it in this century have survived with no residual trauma whatsoever - to themselves, anyway. It's not an easy situation to live with for their families."

"Would it be reversible?" asked Mum.

"No. Technically, yes, but in reality, no. Ms Granger's parents - and Ms Granger - had a horrible time reversing things, and that was without accompanying emotional trauma such as Mr. Weasley has. By the time he was strong enough to make an attempt at reversal possible, the new memories would be too deeply set to be removed without great risk and emotional harm. I would never perform it. No ethical Healer would."

"So if he agrees... that would be the end of it? A difficult spell, and then he'd be better?"

"It would work." Lethe turned back to George. "It would be painful, but you would not remember it."

George was silent for a long time. "And I'd lose Fred?"

"You've already lost him," said Mum quietly.

There was another long silence. "Mum," said George. "His memories are all I have left."

**ooo000ooo**

"He has given up, Mrs. Weasley," said Healer Lethe gently. "Now he's just waiting."

"For what?"

"To die." She paused while Molly and Arthur and Ron tried to digest that. "He's exhausted. He has done a remarkable job, but I think he's reached the end of his strength."

"What are you going to do now?" asked Ron.

The Healer pressed her lips together. "Nothing."

The silence in the room was absolute.

"What do you mean, nothing?" asked Arthur, taking one of Molly's hands in his and holding it tight.

"George is an adult. He has decided he does not want any more intervention. No Sundering, no Reawakening. We cannot, therefore, force him to do anything else, or force any more treatment on him."

"But he's not mentally sound enough to make that decision," said Molly.

Lethe's dark eyes were filled with compassion. "Mrs. Weasley... he's sane enough. And if I could ethically force him to undergo an extremely painful and difficult treatment with low odds of success, it wouldn't do any good. Even without the magical dysfunction, even without the piece of Fred's soul that wants to just stop being, he's deeply depressed and in a great deal of emotional pain. Strong as he is, he might have committed suicide months ago, just from the emotional trauma of losing someone that close to him." She shook her head. "Putting him through the Sundering ritual without his full consent would be worse than useless."

"You said the Reawakening would work," said Molly.

"It would, yes. If he chose to go through with it. Which he does not."

"You're just going to let him lie there until he starves to death?" said Ron, his voice hoarse. "Just let him commit suicide right in front of you?"

Lethe bowed her head. "There isn't another choice, Mr. Weasley."

Molly stared at her. "I didn't want to believe it," she said, her voice low.

Lethe sighed. "Unfortunately, it's true."

They were silent for a few moments, as the Weasleys tried to fit this into their minds, and Molly could feel Arthur's grief tearing at her, could feel Ron's anger and frustration at having worked so hard for so long to save his brother's life, only to lose it in the end anyway.

"May I see him?" asked Molly.

The Healer sighed again. "You can. I doubt he'll respond, though. He has shut himself down almost completely."

Molly nodded.

"Mrs. Weasley... please do not try to talk him out of it. It will cause you both nothing but pain. He knows what he is doing. He knows how much you love him, and he knows how much his passing will hurt all of you, but he simply does not have the strength to keep fighting."

Molly nodded, tears in her eyes. She slowly made her way to George's room, tapping on the door and pushing it open when no permission to enter was forthcoming.

She went to George's bed, where he lay with his eyes closed, looking for all intents and purposes as though he were merely sleeping.

She sat down next to the bed. "Georgie... please. Let me be here."

George's eyes didn't open.

Molly took her son's hand in hers. "George." She cleared her throat. "I'm not here to bother you. I'm not here to ask you to reconsider." She pushed down sobs that threatened to break through. "I'm... I just want to spend time with you. Maybe... maybe to say goodbye to you."

George didn't answer.

She reached down and stroked his hair. It was long now; the twins had both let their hair grow longer after George's accident, and Molly had never known whether it was deliberate, to enable them to obscure George's missing ear, or simply due to the fact that they weren't terribly concerned with appearances. There was so much she had never known about her two most difficult and infuriating children.

She stroked back a tendril of red from his face. Not so many freckles there now, but there was a line between his eyebrows, and dark shadows under his closed eyes, his pale eyelashes even paler in contrast. His hair and Fred's was the darkest among her children; Percy's was browner but lighter, and Ron's had been almost blond in the summer when he was a child. George's hair didn't seem so dark any more...

She peered closer. It was paler. There were white hairs in among the strands of red, on her twenty-year-old son.

Molly took a deep breath. "I don't understand. I can't understand how much you hurt. I know that. But... but it's going to hurt everyone, so much, to lose you too, so soon after losing Fred. I don't know if we can bear it."

George didn't respond.

**ooo000ooo**

"I am so sorry," said Healer Lethe to Mum, who shook her head quickly. "I honestly thought..."

"It's all right," said Mum.

"I honestly did not think there was a way to change his mind. From everything I had learned about your family, and about him, and from my experience-"

"Fred and George never lived up to expectations," said Dad.

Ron winced. Fred and George. He'd grown up with Fred-and-George as one word, and as difficult as it had been to get used to just George, this... this would be the end of Fred-and-George forever.

Lethe turned to George, who looked pale and weak. "Do you understand what you're doing?" Lethe asked, her voice gentle.

"Yes," George said softly.

"You understand that if you do this, it can't be undone? Your family may tell you about Fred, but you won't remember him yourself. Their stories will sound like things that happened to somebody else."

George nodded.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes," George said, and looked up as Mum gave a small sob.

"All right, then." Lethe chewed her lip for a moment. "The other Healers and I will discuss amongst ourselves how to proceed. It's fairly complex magic, and we will need time to organize ourselves. The procedure will take approximately three days, with recovery time normally a few weeks." She gave George a level gaze. "You do understand that it will be painful. You will not remember the pain afterwards, but while it's going on it will be very difficult."

George nodded.

"The Social Counsellor will discuss this with your family." She turned to Mum and Dad. "You will have to make certain decisions about what to do with George's belongings, and Fred's. And how to deal with telling him about Fred afterwards. Do you mind, Mr. Weasley," she asked George, "if they go through your things?"

George shrugged. "They can if they want."

"You could have them either tell you right away, or decide for themselves."

He looked at Mum. "Whatever they think is best," he said dully.

"All right, then." Lethe stood up. "I would suggest that you bring everyone who is close to George, both friends and family, together in the next few days, to discuss how to go forward."

Mum nodded. "I'll do that-"

Ron shook his head. "No. Mum, I'll do that. You stay with Dad, and with George."

George merely sat quietly, looking down at his hands, seeming exhausted but somehow at peace, and Ron felt completely lost.

What had changed George's mind? How could he have decided to get rid of even the memory of the other half of himself? Of course it certainly beat the rest of them having to watch him die as well, but...

God, please, let this work, thought Ron. Let this make George better.

It didn't really matter why George had changed his mind, and it didn't matter how much it hurt the rest of them; this _had _to make George better.

He touched his brother's arm comfortingly, and left to call the rest of the family.

**ooo000ooo**

**ooo000ooo**

**A few notes:**

1. Did **_not_** mean to get into pro-life/pro-choice in the "embryo" discussion. If you read a hidden pro-life agenda - or pro-choice, for that matter - please trust me, it's not there. The definition is only included to help explain George's medical problem to his family.

2. Twins really are considered special in parts of West Africa. The Yoruba people of Nigeria have the highest rate of twin births in the world, at 4.4% (North America, by contrast, has 3%, which is a huge leap from a few decades ago when the rate was around 1.7%). They have not always been considered special in a positive way, though. In fact, in some times and places it was customary to kill one or both twins at birth, to get rid of the bad luck they brought with them.

Here's one of the cool sites I got twin info from:

www dot randafricanart dot com slash Yoruba underscore Customs underscore and underscore Beliefs underscore Pertaining underscore to underscore Twins dot html

(except, you know, with all the "dot" and "slash" and "underscore" words replaced by the actual symbols)(::shakes fist at ff dot net::)

A relevant quote: "As the Yoruba believe that twins share the same combined soul, when a newborn twin dies, the life of the other is imperiled because the balance of his soul has become seriously disturbed."

3. France's national anthem, La Marseillaise, was the rallying cry of the French Revolution. The real Marie Antoinette would not sing it. It's highly probable that the Marie George sleeps with is not, therefore, a reincarnation of Marie Antoinette ;)


	9. Severance

**Author Note:** Thanks to **twistedm**, **tree00faery**, and **vanseedee** for beta above and beyond the call of friendship.

OK, sorry to take so long with this one. The next (and last) chapter should be out much, much faster. I hope. ::crossing fingers and hoping the Editing Fairy doesn't go AWOL on me:: Less than two weeks is my target.

And thank you, cutietrp, Jackieryans, brionyjae, Rachel Facius, silverbirch, , Pineapplecat, and Mandy for your lovely reviews :)

**February**

"What d'you think we should..." Ron held up one of Fred's trainers. He looked around the room. God, it was like Fred had never left. Apparently George had just left the door closed, and the place smelled musty but also somehow still like Fred.

"We were going to go through this room eventually," said Lee, looking around. "We tidied a bit when he first came back, picking things up that the Death Eaters went through."

"Was there a lot of damage?"

Lee shook his head. "I think they were too traumatized from the jinxes in the living room and kitchen. By the time they hit the bedrooms, they don't seem to have had the heart to really do a thorough job of looting. Probably had something to do with the DinkShrink hexes. I don't even know what's important here and what isn't. Only George would know."

Ron ran his finger along the books on Fred's shelf. _Ethelbercht's__ Sensuals_. _Positively Impossible Potions_. And a book of love poems... was that something Fred actually bought and read? Or a memento from some girl he'd dated? Or a place to find some of their ideas for WonderWitch? Only George would've known.

_Fred, you enormous git, I LOVE you!_ said the tag on a stuffed Puffskein that was wedged between Fred's desk and the wall. From whom?

A ticket stub for a Weird Sisters concert from two years ago on the floor near his bed. Was it something that held deep significance? Or just something Fred had forgotten to take out of his trouser pockets, and had ended up on the floor before the Death Eaters gave up ransacking and returned home with their tails between their legs, literally?

"None of it will mean anything to him when he comes out," said Ginny bitterly. "Why don't we just dump it all?"

"No, we can't," said Mum. She looked around, distressed. "We can't go through this. We'll... we'll hide it away. For when we can decide what to do with it." She ushered them out of the room, spoke a few words, and Fred's door disappeared.

They still had to go through the rest of the flat, though.

"What do we do with these, Mum?" Ginny asked, sorting through the books and magazines in the living room. No idea which were Fred's and which were George's. Advanced Potion-making, highly technical Charms books, _Transfigurations Today_, some Runes books with questionable drawings, marketing, research, advertising, accounting, and various magazines that the siblings hid from Mum.

Mum exchanged a helpless look with Dad.

"I mean, assuming we can figure out whose is what, we put them in these boxes, and then... what?" asked Ginny. "And how long do we keep Fred's room a secret? I mean, George will come out eventually, he's going to ask - people are going to ask him-"

"We just won't let him be around anybody who knows. Not for a while."

"Mum, I really don't think that's going to work," said Bill. "Not for long, anyway."

Mum bristled. "It will if we make it work."

"He's barely awake yet and already getting restless. He knows there's something going on. 'You had an accident in the lab' won't do it for much longer."

"He needs more time," said Mum. "He's still confused. He won't be coming home for another few weeks at least."

"And what then?" asked Bill. "You can't protect him forever."

"You saw him," said Mum. "He's doing well. He's recovering."

"Yeah, he's recovering. But he's still _George_, Mum. He's not going to just accept being told that there's blank spots in his memory and he shouldn't ask too many questions. He's going to want to come home - to the home he knows - and he's going to want to figure things out."

"The Healer said that other families have been able to-"

"Maybe the Healers in Nigeria dealt with people who weren't as naturally curious as Fred and George," said Bill. "Or less suspicious."

"We don't know George will be all that curious any more," said Ginny. "We don't know anything about what he's going to be like."

Ron swallowed hard at the tone to her voice. "Ginny."

Ginny abruptly turned on her heel and left, her footsteps speeding up as she went down the stairs. Ron started after her, but Lee shook his head and went after her himself.

"You know, I really think he should go travelling," said Mum. "Perhaps go with Charlie to Romania."

"Mum, I'd love to take him, you know I would," said Charlie, "but the Healers want him here for the six-week mark, when they do their final examination of him."

Mum pressed her lips together.

Ron's eye fell on a photograph, tacked onto the wall, of Fred and Lee laughing and throwing snowballs at whoever was taking the picture - probably George.

What would Fred have thought of this? Ron wondered. What would he have thought of all of them going through the detritus of his life, wiping him clean off the face of the earth?

It didn't matter. Fred was gone. He deliberately pushed his mind away from all memory of Fred, and tossed the picture into the nearest box.

**ooo000ooo**

Good old Janus Thickey Ward for Mental Maladies. Ron sighed as he and Percy entered the ward. Merlin, but he hated this place.

"Hi, Luna," he said, and Luna gave him a scornful sneer and turned away. He and Percy looked at each other, puzzled. "What the..."

It was still so weird, coming here. George hadn't wanted visitors the first time he'd been in, back in September. He'd been unwontedly quiet and almost shy - frequently done in by the potions he was on, embarrassed to be there, and almost invariably eager to see his visitors leave. And he hadn't cared about visitors after his suicide attempt; just been sullen and angry and depressed.

Now, he was happy to get guests. As he recovered and woke up a bit more, it was both easier and harder to visit him. He was so open, cheerful, and untroubled - except by restlessness, as his body healed and his spirit longed to leave St. Mungo's. Percy knocked on George's door and went in, and Ron paused in the doorway, glancing over the ward with its shuffling, subdued, bathrobe-clad patients. George looked completely out of place.

"Oi, Earth to Ron," called George from the room. "Come in."

"Sorry," said Ron, and came in. "How are you?"

"Bored!" said George, rolling his eyes. "Bloody hell this place is killing me. Did you bring any books?"

"Books?" said Percy.

"Damn, Hermione didn't tell you? It's the only thing keeping me halfway sane in here, mate. I'm halfway through bloody volume seven of the Goblin Manifestoes. Can't keep going though. Don't tell Hermione, she highly recommended them."

"Oh. I can certainly get you some books," said Percy. "Just let me know what kind."

"Erm, you had said you wanted to know what's going on in the shop," said Ron, and brought out a catalogue scroll. George's eyes lit up, and he reached for it. "Are you... d'you think you're all right to do this now?" Ron asked, and chuckled when George grabbed the catalogue and smacked him across the head with it.

"Am I all right to do this now?" George repeated. "I've only been asking you to bring it in for three days. Git." He unrolled the parchment, scanning down the list of products and prices. He frowned.

"How much d'you, erm, remember?" Ron asked. George had been told that there were blank spots in his memory due to 'the accident', but they never knew when they were likely to come up.

"Bollocks, this is messed up," muttered George. "I _feel_ like I remember everything, but then you show me this and half the things in it I can't recall for the life of me. And the rest feel like I just saw them yesterday." He pressed his lips together. "Merlin, whatever the fuck I was doing in that lab, I will never ever do again. This is too messed up for words."

Ron swallowed and tried to keep his face impassive, but George wasn't looking at him; he was frowning at the name emblazoned across the top of the catalogue. "Hang on. That's bad grammar."

"What?"

"Bad grammar. The apostrophe's in the wrong place."

Ron looked at him, baffled.

"In Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? That's Ron and me," said Percy smoothly. "We're the other Weasleys. You're the founder, but we helped. And Harry gave you the money to start it. You insisted on it being a family operation."

George grimaced. "Fuck me, sorry, yeah, I do know that. I'm sorry. I remember Harry giving me the money, but not you two being so much a part of it that you were in the name." He threw the scroll down on the bed. "Bugger all this for a lark!" He got up. "This is fucking infuriating, is what it is!"

"It's only been a few days," Percy pointed out. "You know it'll get better."

"But what the hell happened?" George asked.

"Listen, just trust us, all right? Remember the Healer said we weren't supposed to give you too much too soon." George nodded reluctantly. "So trust us. Please. And..." Percy picked up the catalogue, "come back to this, because I'm not doing your inventory after you come back if you use, 'Oh I don't remember what's in my own catalogue' as an excuse." George chuckled, temporarily mollified, and went back to work.

So, obviously George still remembered building and running Wheezes, thought Ron. But without Fred. And since when had George cared about grammar?

Once more Ron wondered what had happened during the Reawakening sessions with George and the Healers, but knew he really didn't want to know. And Mum and Dad certainly didn't want to talk about it. They'd been there through all the sessions, and always come out looking pale and on the edge of collapse. Mum even had to be tranquilized one day. Ron hadn't wanted to know why.

And yet George himself seemed unscarred. He was so much the way he used to be, and it was unbelievably disconcerting to see him that way. To see that he honestly didn't realize there was anything wrong, and was only puzzled as to why he was in the hospital and couldn't go home.

Ron observed George as Percy explained one of the apparently Fred-created products in the catalogue. George, but not George. His appearance was changed; his hair was lighter now, and his eyes somehow looked lighter as well, which made no sense. His voice was a bit rougher; apparently he'd screamed his throat raw during the ritual. The blue shirt and dark grey trousers were new; the first day he'd been awake, George had looked askance at the electric-green shirt and orangey-brown trousers he'd found in his hospital closet, and asked for something that didn't clash so badly.

And he wasn't George. Or rather, he was, but... it was disconcerting how little he joked around, and how his jokes were usually gentle humour, with little of the biting wit that had always characterized both twins. And he read. A lot.

He was still George, though. Mostly. George from before the war. No brooding, no angry silences, no dark cloud over him. Just George.

"He's doing well, isn't he?" said Mum in a low voice, coming into the room, her eyes troubled as always.

"Yeah," said Ron, pushing down his misgivings. George was doing well, but he wasn't the same George, and Ron had no idea how he would fit into his old life.

**March**

"Wow, the whole family's here," said George, entering Healer Lethe's magically enlarged office. "What's this about?"

Lethe cleared her throat. "Mr. Weasley, we need to clear up a few things before we send you home. I've asked your family to be here, because this concerns them as much as you."

George took the chair offered him, at once suspicious and relieved. He took a deep breath. "All right. Is this where you finally let me know what the hell is it that I don't know, that everybody else does?"

"What do you mean?" said Dad.

"Dad, 'you blew up a potion' got old about three weeks ago," he said tensely. "I've been going mental here, trying to figure out what the hell it is all of you aren't saying. And what the bloody hell happened in my lab."

"This doesn't just have to do with what happened there," said Dad.

"So there is something you've all been hiding," George said flatly. "Something bad." Damn it, he'd suspected, the entire time he'd been in the hospital. Everyone so gentle, so hesitant, so relentlessly cheerful and so completely nonplussed over the weirdest things. Added to his own complete inability to remember what the hell had landed him on the Crazy Ward, the bizarre gaping abysses in his memory, and Luna Lovegood's determined avoidance of him, he had started to suspect that if the other patients on the ward didn't drive him 'round the twist, his own family would.

"George," said Charlie. "Remember, we asked you to trust us."

"Yeah, I know!" said George, frustrated. "And I have. But I've bloody well had enough of this! What is so damned important that the world was going to end if you told me? Was I doing something illegal in my lab? Did somebody try to kill me? What the hell happened?"

"We weren't keeping anything from you about your lab," said Mum.

Ron gaped at Mum. "Mum?"

"Well... not really," she said. "That wasn't the main thing."

George's eyes narrowed.

"We had another brother," blurted Ginny, and George could feel the tension in the family suddenly fall, as a sigh ran around the room.

"Erm... what?"

"Fred. We had another brother, named Fred."

George stared at her. "That's... it?"

Ginny blew out her breath. "Yeah, that's it," she said bitterly, looking away from him.

George tried to process this. "Did I know him?"

"Yeah."

"That's what you were all hiding?" He looked around the room. "A brother?"

"Yes," said Mum.

George shook his head, completely off-balance. "Well... for God's sake, come on, tell me about him. And why don't I remember him? Was he older or younger than me?"

"Technically he was older, by a few minutes," said Dad, and swallowed hard. "You were twins. Identical twins."

George's eyes widened. "_Twins?_"

"Yes."

"Bloody hell, that's a hell of a thing to not be able to remember. Why would I..." He frowned. "Was it... was it his fault that I'm here?"

Healer Lethe broke the resounding silence. "Mr. Weasley, I think maybe I should take over," she said. "I'll give you a summary of what's happened, and you can ask me any questions after I'm done. As I explained to your family, sometimes it is very difficult for relatives to give this information while dealing with their own emotional reaction to all that has happened."

And in as few words as possible, Lethe told George. About his brother Fred, and Fred's death, and the piece of his magic, or soul, left in George. About that piece of Fred's soul dragging him down. About his own suicide attempt, and his decision to undergo a painful procedure that would erase all memory or influence of his twin from his life.

"Is there anything else you need to know?" she asked after she had finished.

George swallowed hard and shook his head. "N-no." He shivered, clasping his arms around himself.

"Georgie?" said Mum after a while. "Can... is there anything we can do?"

George shook his head. He closed his eyes for a moment. "Actually, yeah," he said, his mind still reeling. "Erm, any chance you can Obliviate this conversation from my head too?"

**ooo000ooo**

"You're ready to go, Mr. Weasley," said Lethe, and handed George back his wand.

George grinned at it. "Merlin, I'm glad to have you back," he said, laughing. He waved it experimentally, producing a trail of sparkles that floated in the air for a moment and then blew up.

Lee smiled. George's wand sparks always blew up. They had done so in an eye-watering, loud way when Fred had been alive, and in a sporadic, fitful way after Fred had died - not that George was in the habit of making random sparks so much after Fred died anyway. This time they just sparkled prettily, and disappeared with a small pop.

"How does the wand feel?" asked Lethe.

George blinked. "Erm, all right."

"Do you notice anything different about it?"

George shook his head. "Should I?"

"There have been a few times when wizards who underwent your procedure found their old wand did not suit them any more."

George shrugged, his grin fading. "Feels fine to me." He put it away, and Lee was hard pressed not to scowl at the bloody Healer. It had only been a few days since he'd been told, but Lee could tell George was already developing a distinct dislike for any unexpected reminders of what had happened.

George signed out, shouldered his pack with his personals in it - most of it clothing he hadn't worn since he'd woken up, and which Lee suspected would go into a bin when he got home - and nodded to Lee.

"Ready?" asked Lee.

"Ugh, Merlin, more than ready," said George, and left without a backward glance. They took the lift down.

"Your family's not narked about you telling them not to come with you today?" asked Lee.

George huffed a laugh. "Are you mental? Mum nearly had fits. I had to promise her I'd be at The Burrow for dinner tonight, no matter what." They walked out of the hospital, and George stopped and closed his eyes, turning his face up to the sunlight and breathing in deeply. "Ah, fresh air." He opened his eyes. "I just couldn't take the entire clan and their brave little smiles right now. Enough is enough."

Lee nodded, and they headed for the Leaky, then Apparated straight to the flat, George having decided beforehand to skip going into the shop until after closing time.

They stepped into the flat, and Lee blinked. Weird as hell to see no sign of Fred. The wall where Fred's door was, was empty, and didn't seem large enough to hold an entire room behind it.

"Hm. I tidied up, did I?" said George, glancing around. "Before trying to do myself in? How considerate of me."

Lee shuddered.

"Sorry," said George with a grimace. "Not a good topic of conversation, I know." He put down his pack.

Lee took a deep breath. "It's all right. You don't have to watch your mouth around me."

George met his eyes, and Lee was surprised at how bitter he looked. He'd become used to the cheerful face George wore before the rest of the world; this looked more like post-war George, and was more than a little unnerving. "Thanks."

Lee hesitated. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About what your family doesn't want to hear."

"About me offing myself? About Fred?" George shrugged, going to his closet and looking at the things hanging there with a bit of a frown. "Doesn't matter."

"Matters to me."

"I'm going to get some new clothes," said George abruptly. "You coming?"

Lee blinked. "Erm. All right, let's go."

Hours later, now attired more suitably in jeans and simple wizarding robes, George was back at The Burrow, and it all felt distressingly normal. He seemed quieter than before, but it was hard to be sure. George-post-Fred had also been quiet. George-without-Fred seemed to be less so. Somewhere in between of George-post-Fred and George-with-Fred. Which made Lee's head ache, but which he supposed made as much sense as anything could, in this uniquely fucked-up situation.

It would just take some getting used to, Lee told himself during dinner. And after dinner. And after Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went out for a walk, leaving the rest of them to clear the table and then gather in the living room.

"You've talked to the Aurors, then?" Charlie was asking Ron as Lee came back from the kitchen with Butterbeers for all. He smiled in thanks as Lee passed him a bottle.

"Yeah, they're willing to take me back," said Ron. "I can even stay in the same year. Only I'll have to put in extra work over the summer break." He took two bottles from Lee and passed one to Hermione. "It's still not official, though," he added, uncorking his bottle. "Not until George gives me the go-ahead."

"I've told you, I'm sure Verity and Naomi are doing just fine," protested George. "Over-protective git." He turned to take his own bottle from Lee, and his eyes narrowed at something over Lee's shoulder.

"He's probably right, though," said Charlie. "You shouldn't make any decisions until you've seen what the place looks like." There was a short silence. "George?"

George blinked and brought his attention back to Charlie. "Right, sorry," said George. "Yeah, you're right, Ron's probably got a point." He glanced back over Lee's shoulder, and Lee turned around.

The Weasley family clock. Bugger.

"George?" asked Charlie. "You all right?"

"What? Yeah." George gave himself a small shake. "In my memory, there were only eight hands on this clock." He paused. "And I've never seen mine pointing at Lost."

Lee swallowed hard. There was a tense silence.

"What were you all going to do if you decided not to ever tell me about Fred?" George asked, looking down at his bottle. "How were you going to explain the extra hand?"

Bill glanced around the room. "George, I don't think anybody but Mum seriously considered the idea of never telling you."

George nodded, and idly started to take the label off his bottle. "Why can't I remember him?" he said softly.

"We told you," said Percy. "It was traumatic, and-"

"But it doesn't make any bloody sense, you know? I can't imagine agreeing to something like that. Agreeing to have someone erased from my life."

"Frankly, neither could I," said Lee reluctantly. "But you were in a bad state, George. You didn't have much of an alternative. I think Fred would've agreed with you."

"Well you can say that; I can't. I've no idea. Everyone keeps saying he was a lot like me and if I can't believe I'd do it, how could he?"

Lee sighed.

"What was he like? For real, I mean. Without Mum and Dad here likely to overhear things they probably shouldn't."

Hermione smiled. "Loud. Creative. Inventive. Bit of a prat."

George nodded. "Did we really get along as well as Lethe said?"

"Yes, you were really very similar," Hermione said. "People couldn't tell you apart. Even your mum mixed you up."

"Wasn't that annoying?"

"Yeah, sometimes," said Ron. "Especially when we'd think we'd said something to one of you and the other one had no clue what we were on about. Mum used to-"

George shook his head. "No, I meant wasn't it annoying for me. Us."

Ron was startled. "Erm. No, you liked it. You kept mixing us up."

"What, on purpose?"

"Yeah."

George's skeptical expression was deeply disturbing.

"I think Fred would've agreed with what you did," said Lee. "And I... I think he would've been proud of you for coming through it."

George shrugged and took a swig of his Butterbeer. "Have to take your word for it, won't I?"

**ooo000ooo**

"Ron, mate, _please_ go home before your nose explodes. Again."

"I can deal with it-"

"No, you can't," George said firmly. "We don't know when the next eruption's going to happen, the antidote isn't fully tested yet, you're scaring - and disgusting - the customers, and that last flow of lava almost burnt your robes. Just go home and take a bath. That always sorts it."

Ron bit his lip. "I - I'm supposed to be on shift till closing-"

"This place is deader than St. Mungo's on a Saturday night," said George, and from the wince on Ron's face he wished he'd chosen another simile. "Besides which you've still got that Surveillance exam to study for. Geffen _wants_ to take you back. Don't mess that up."

"But-"

"Merlin, Ron, what d'you think is going to happen if you're not watching my every move for a couple of hours?"

Ron flushed and looked away, and George suppressed his impatience with great effort. Yes, all right, he'd apparently tried to do himself in not so very long ago, but was he honestly the only person who realized he was nowhere near any kind of state to do that again?

"Mum, please, said George. Ron scowled at him. Go home and take that bath. Look, you don't even have to worry that I'll be alone here; Angelina's dropping by later. We're going out to dinner."

"Oh yeah? Where?"

"Think I'll take her to that new restaurant, Pandoora's. Bloody brilliant rogan josh there."

All right, this was ridiculous, there was no fucking reason for that to make Ron's face morph into Awkwardly Worried again. "You've... you've eaten there?" Ron asked, his voice strangely tight. At Pandooras?

George nodded. "A few times. The aloo gobi's a bit bland, but everything else is fine."

Ron blew out his breath. "All right, fine," he muttered, taking off his WWW robes and hanging them up. For about the millionth time, George wondered what the hell was up with the robes, too. His own were decent rich Gryffindor red and gold, and yet Ron still wore the hideous pink ones that had been all George could find when hed come back to the shop. No accounting for taste.

At least he was leaving. _Finally_, for Merlin's sake.

George finished counting the till, dealt with the last few customers, and tidied a bit, realizing with relief that he probably wouldn't have to stay too long after closing tonight - and for the second time this week, too. He was finally getting back into the swing of things.

It had been a bit overwhelming dealing with the shop once hed been released. Not only were there dozens of products he'd never seen; there was just a lot more _stuff_ in general. Apparently it had made a big difference, having two shop owners, one of them evidently much better at business than George. Coming back to find nobody formally assigned to do inventory and advertising had made things decidedly tight at first too. He would have to figure out some way of telling his brother - in a non-embarrassing way - that he was eternally grateful Ron had insisted on not just buggering off back to the Aurors right away; George had needed a lot more time than he'd expected, to figure out how to run the whole enterprise himself.

He'd done it, though. He'd hired an accountant and another shop assistant, and got out of advertising altogether by contracting the work to Lee. The place was doing very well - not nearly as well as it had before the war, if the account books could be believed - but very respectable.

He finished sweeping and headed up the stairs, musing over the LavaNose issue. It was coming along well, mostly. It would probably be a big success once it was working properly, particular with pre-Hogwarts-age boys. Now, if he could only get the antidote working properly, and make both the lava and the mucus work consistently...

He went up to the flat and checked the time; half an hour to Angelina. He glanced around and started to tidy, gathering up dirty laundry, still thinking.

The problem was, the answer was almost definitely in the _Million Uses For Mucus_ special edition of _Potions Today_, which he hadn't been able to find, despite having rifled through the entire flat and lab. He picked up a laundry basket and started to fill it. He was _sure_ he'd last seen that edition on the kitchen table around Christmas time, but that was before he'd ended up in St. Mungo's, and who knew what had happened to it since then...

He suddenly frowned, the basket still in his hands, and turned to the blank wall next to his bedroom.

Fred's room. It was still hidden, but Mum had told him the spells to make it appear and said, "It's yours to open, dear. When you're ready." He'd looked away rather than see her expression, which he could draw from memory anyway: eyes filling with tears, mouth trembling. The way she looked every single time Fred was mentioned.

He put down the laundry and touched the wall lightly, chewing on his lip. He wasn't ready. He wasn't anywhere near ready. If it was completely up to him, he'd just hang posters on the wall and ignore the room behind it. Or, even better, unseal the room, clear it and turn it into a studio or something useful. Because it was bloody creepy sometimes, knowing that there was this unused shrine to a forgotten man, right next to his bedroom.

But what with all that was behind the door meaning so much to the rest of the family...

They all still looked at it, surreptitiously, then glanced at him. They didn't know whether he'd been in there, though. None of them asked.

He took a deep breath and took out his wand.

"_Revelus__._"

The wall seemed to expand a bit, and a door appeared. Just like the door that hid Grimmauld Place, which he'd gone through dozens of times the summer his family had lived there, when he'd pushed so hard to join the Order.

When _they_ had pushed so hard. Fred had been in the Order too.

He opened the door.

It was just an ordinary room. A bit messier than his own, but not by much. A Puddlemere United poster on the wall, the magic animating the players long gone and the players all in place on the poster instead of whooshing around the room. A pair of shoes half-tucked under the desk. Clothing piled on the unmade bed, books on the floor, clear signs everywhere of post-Fred tampering, though it was hard to tell how much of the mess was from Fred himself, how much was the Death Eaters who'd supposedly ransacked the place after they'd gone into hiding, and how much was the family trying to decide what to do with everything Fred-related after George had undergone the Reawakening.

And there it was, the _Mucus_ edition, only partially hidden under a spare piece of parchment with a doodle on it. George picked it up and turned to leave, relief flooding through him.

He stopped at the door. Took a deep breath, turned around, and slowly came back into the room.

He glanced around. Bed still unmade, probably since Fred had woken up on the last morning they were in the shop. The green trainers under the desk were pretty decent ones. Looked about George's size - though of course they would, wouldn't they? He ran a hand through his hair, inexplicably slightly embarrassed.

He opened the closet. Ah. Well, this was where he could store all the ghastly things in his own wardrobe. God, being ginger was bad enough as far as wardrobe colour coordinating went; why add to the visual misery?

He closed the closet door and turned to the bookshelf filled with knickknacks, magazines, and books. _Ethelbrecht's__ Sensuals_, in the original Norse; did that mean Fred had taken Ancient Runes, and read the filthy poetry? Or had he just bought it for the naughty Viking pictures? From what George had been told about Fred, he suspected the latter.

A copy of _Positively Impossible Potions_ and _Cleopatra's Charms_. And _Loving Love Poetry For Loving Lovers_, which George had used extensively when he was developing the Wonder Witch line. He smiled and ran a finger over the spine, and decided to re-read later.

A copy of _Wicked Witch_ magazine, tucked behind the books. Not a particularly interesting edition, if he recalled correctly, though the Snatch Snitch spread had been somewhat clever.

He stepped closer to the shelf, putting the magazine back where he'd found it, and looked down as his foot encountered something half-tucked under the bed.

A box, its lid still open. He picked it up and sat down on the bed to go through it.

Photographs and newspaper articles. Dozens of photographs of George - and Fred in every single one of them. God, they really had been identical; he had no idea who was who. There they were, age fourteen or so, training the chickens to march in formation. And again, age three and a half, one of them holding a newborn Ginny. Eight years old or so, a cast on George's arm - or was it Fred's? George closed his eyes and thought for a moment. He remembered breaking his arm, but was that one of those false memories the Reawakening had given him?

And another one, of George and Lee laughing and throwing snowballs towards the camera. He remembered this one. It had been taken right after Umbridge's Decree banning all projectiles from Hogwarts. He and Lee and Angelina had gone outside, and documented themselves breaking the Decree, after curfew, just to spite her.

He looked closer. That wasn't him in the picture. It looked like him, all right, but wasn't, and he wasn't sure how he could tell.

He put the photographs on the bed and continued looking through the box, through dozens of newspaper clippings. Some had to do with the war, but others seemed completely random, and often had circles around pictures or scribbled sentences that made no sense, in unfamiliar writing - although, wait, one had his own handwriting, interspersed with somebody else's.

**Speakwell****?**

_No, pergamon._

**Wanker****.**

_Surrey if it does, mate. That last one nearly did me in. _

He blinked, completely baffled. Looked through more of the notes, doodles, and ideas for new products, a frown growing on his face. It was one thing to help other kids skive off school, especially when you were a kid yourself. But the bulk of these were just irresponsible, no matter what your age. And some were just plain nasty; turning your friend into a canary was hilarious, but making them constipated? Ugh.

Why the hell hadn't Fred been Sorted into Slytherin?

He'd almost asked that once, after Ron had told him about Fred almost killing him with an Unbreakable Vow. Very nice; at seven years old, Fred had almost murdered his younger brother as a prank.

_They_ had almost murdered their younger brother. George had been part of that particular exploit, apparently. Charming.

He shoved the pictures and clippings back into the box and set the box down on the floor, noting a stuffed Puffskein next to the desk. _Fred, you enormous git, I LOVE you! _said the tag.

He blinked. That was Katie's untidy scrawl. His Katie. What the hell had Katie been doing, writing that to Fred?

All right, not _his_ Katie, strictly speaking - they'd only dated a few times before deciding it probably wouldn't work - but still... had it actually been Fred who'd dated her?

Damn. He hoped not. Short as it had been, that little while with Katie had been fun. He wanted that memory to be real. To be his.

He set the Puffskein down, and glanced at Fred's desk. A scrap of paper with a Floo address on it, and three ink pots, one partially opened and no doubt fully evaporated. A small radio. A teacup with something growing in it. A doodle of McGonagall. A candlestick in the shape of a chair. Lube. A purple quill.

He glanced at the calendar on the wall above the desk, open to March of last year and full of scribbled appointments and names of people and products. Mango Tango was underlined under March 1, and he remembered the day he'd finally got it to work - _weeks_ he'd spent trying to perfect that blasted charm, having it turn his tongue into a mango, which was tasty, but devilishly difficult to re-transform if you couldnt say the counter-spell.

So he'd worked on that one with Fred, then? Had it been any easier, having Fred there to cast the counter-spell? Had it not been his tongue at all that swelled up, but Fred's?

He could quickly go mad in here, trying to figure out who was who in his memories. It would probably be safer to use this room only to get to know his brother, not himself.

Only it seemed they'd been one and the same.

He flipped over to April, noting the large circle around his birthday and dozens of appointments he'd had to miss because he'd gone into hiding. He remembered his rather subdued birthday party at Auntie Muriel's, and the irritation of having to miss out on April Fool's Day sales at Wheezes. He wondered if Fred had been upset about that too.

He opened the top drawer of Fred's desk. Quills, inks, and a box of Droobles, neatly arranged. Middle drawer: spare parchment, stacked according to quality. Looked more like it should belong to Percy than to somebody George had been told was a lot like himself. He opened the bottom drawer, finding it full of pieces of parchment of various sizes, all written upon, and stuffed in every which way. He smiled slightly, and picked one out of the drawer.

_Of course I'm hurt. And I'm fucking furious, if you care at all_ was all that the first letter said. Unsigned - he peered more closely and his eyebrows shot up. That was Angelina's handwriting. The letter ended there. What had she been furious about? He took out more parchments, rifling through them for her handwriting.

_No, you selfish prick. I love you, but this isn't something you can just charm your way out of. You were a bloody arse and I don't want to forgive you. Can you possibly understand that?_

That was all that one said. George kept flipping through the pile. Why had Fred kept these?

_Fred, leave me alone. I'm not interested. If you want to apologize, do it in person. At Hogsmeade, or at the end of the school year. In the meantime, no we're bloody well not together any more!_

George's mouth fell open. Together? As in...

_Look, I'm sorry_, began another letter, not in Angelina's writing - and with a slight shock he recognized the same writing from the back-and-forth between himself and Fred. He swallowed. _I didn't think you'd get your knickers in such a twist over it. If we'd told you, you would've tried to stop us and you probably would've got into trouble over it. It wasn't supposed to (scratched out) intended to (scratched out) meant to hurt you. Besides, I didn't think we were all that serious anyway. And look, I wouldn't mind seeing you on a Hogsmeade weekend but we're dead busy right now and there's Oliver's pick-up Quidditch game on the next three Saturdays_

George groaned. That had to be one of the worst apologies he'd ever read. Hopefully Fred had recognized that, as he obviously hadn't sent it. There was Angelina, telling him very clearly how hurt she was, and what Fred needed to do to redeem himself - namely, grovel - and he'd just completely missed it.

What an arse. With that kind of romantic sensitivity, he'd probably died a virgin.

George paused, frowning. Wait. Was he a virgin himself? He was fairly sure not, but if he wasn't, then... who had he slept with?

Argh. Blank. Nothing but certainty that he had slept with _somebody,_ at some point in his life.

He skimmed over the letters again, shaking his head. Fred, and Angelina. He couldn't picture that at all. It would have made far more sense for Angelina to date George - though he would've been more likely to date _Lee_ than Angelina. Great girl, good friend, certainly attractive, but far too driven and humourless for him. He wondered just how serious Fred and Angelina had been, and how on earth they had ever managed to not piss each other off on a daily basis.

They probably hadn't managed well at all, judging from the tone of the letters.

He gathered them together and dropped them back into the drawer. Shoved the drawer shut, and looked over the room. There was almost nothing here that he could understand. Nothing he could fit into his life. Maybe he should bring Lee in here, or maybe Ron or Percy.

Or maybe he'd just leave the room sealed forever.

"George?" a voice from the Floo startled him.

He scrambled up and left the room hastily, murmuring the hiding spell. He hurried to the Floo, unable to stomach talking about this with anybody right now. Maybe later.

Maybe a _lot_ later. Maybe never.

"Angelina," he said, mustering a smile for her. "Right, I almost forgot our dinner date."

Angelina stepped through the Floo, shaking her head in amusement. "My God, some things really never do change. You've still got an abysmal memory for social appointments."

George ducked his head and grinned at her. "Forgive me?"

Angelina rolled her eyes and they quickly made their way over to Pandoora's, got a table, and ordered. As they sipped their Butterbeers and waited for their food to arrive, George found himself completely unable to concentrate fully on whatever the hell Angelina was talking about, but made himself automatically answer and prompt her for more as his mind wandered.

"And then the silly bint turns to me and says George, what on Earth is the matter with you?" Angelina said.

There was a brief silence before George blinked and suddenly realized that Angelina's last sentence had ended on an up note, and she was looking at him expectantly.

"Sorry, what?"

"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" said Angelina. "What is it?"

"You went out with him," he blurted.

She blinked. "What? Who?"

"Fred."

Her eyes widened. They stared at each other.

"Never mind, forget I said anything," he said, and took a pull of his Butterbeer.

Angelina shook her head quickly. "No, I'm... I suppose I thought you knew. Did nobody tell you?"

George snorted. "When? During our lengthy discussions of the big dead ginger elephant in the room? Nobody wants to talk about him. Not to me, anyway."

Angelina chewed on her lip, apparently utterly unable to figure out what to say to him. The silence became uncomfortable.

"Oh fuck this," said George, scraping his chair back. He stood up and headed for the door.

"George, wait!"

"No. Fuck off." He walked out, took a few deep breaths, then walked back in. Angelina was still frozen in place.

"Bloody hell, I'm sorry," he said roughly. "God, that was - I'm sorry. I'm being an arse. It's not you I'm angry with." He took another calming breath. "It's Fred. And me. And this whole... buggered-up situation."

Angelina bit her lip. "I'm sorry, George." She hesitated. "Does it mater that much?" she asked cautiously.

He shrugged. "I found your letters," he said, and looked away. "Sorry, shouldn't've read them, I know, but-"

Angelina shook her head. "They were yours to read, if you wanted to. Everything of Fred's was yours."

No, it bloody well wasn't. He couldn't imagine ever wanting some utter stranger to read through his letters after his own death; he couldn't imagine Fred would've wanted that for himself.

"How long were you two together?" he asked.

She smiled sadly. "Isn't that the hundred-Galleon question," she said. "We were sort of on-again, off-again, from sixth year till you two left Hogwarts." She paused. "Does any of this seem familiar?" she asked.

George closed his eyes and thought for a moment. It was true that sometimes, when people reminded him of something, a memory would come back at least partially - the non-Fred related part of it, anyway, but...

He shook his head, opening his eyes. This seemed to be one of those things that made the bloody Reawakening spell throw up its hands in dismay and give up without a fight. "No. Just have a blank. Happens sometimes."

Angelina's eyes were troubled. "God, George. Don't you... Merlin, you handle this so much better than I would."

"What do you mean?"

"This... this not knowing for sure what happened. Other people knowing things you know nothing about." She tilted her head to the side. "Isn't it frustrating?"

George took a sip of his Butterbeer, then shrugged. "What did you have for dinner last night?"

Angelina's eyebrows went up. "Erm... spaghetti, I think."

"What about Wednesday last week?"

She blinked. "I haven't a clue."

"Isn't that frustrating?"

"But that was just one minor event. And it doesn't mean anything, to anybody. Why would I remember it?"

"D'you remember what grade you got on your Divination Owl?"

Angelina blinked. "No."

"That wasn't one minor event. You studied for it for months." Angelina opened her mouth to answer, but he pressed on. "You had this orange jumper in second year. It was a good colour on you, bizarrely enough, but it was too small."

"What?"

"D'you remember it?"

"No not really."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Why would it?"

"It was a major thing. It made all the Gryffindor boys in our year notice you as a girl. Even Henry Booth did, and he was gayer than a lavender centaur. You thought Lee flirted with you because of your Quidditch prowess; it was the jumper. You don't remember a thing about it, though, do you?"

Angelina looked down at the table. "And that's how you feel? Fred's your orange jumper?"

George heard the tears in her voice. He took her hand. "Yes," he said quietly. "I know he was important to everyone, but I don't remember him any more than you remember your jumper." He paused. "I know I have memory gaps, and some of my memories are inaccurate because they're about events that originally included Fred. But everybody has gaps in their memories, and everybody remembers some things wrong." He gave her a small smile as she looked up. "I can't live in the past, Angie. I have four brothers and a sister, I own a shop and I make brilliant products, I've got a lot of good friends, and none that has anything to do with Fred. I'm curious about him, but it seems to hurt everyone to talk about him. Probably the healthiest thing for me to do is to simply forget about him."

"How would you feel, if you were forgotten?"

He shrugged. "Everyone's forgotten eventually. And once you're dead, you're dead, whether you're remembered or not. Besides, Fred left behind a legacy, at Wheezes. It's just as much of a legacy whether I remember him or not."

Angelina nodded, but looked like she was about to cry. Lethe had told him this was much harder on the family and friends than on the person who actually underwent it, and it looked like she was brutally right. Not for the first time, he wondered how on Earth he could have been so selfish as to have made a decision that seemed to cause so much pain to everyone around him.

George squeezed Angelina's hand gently, then cleared his throat. "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention to what you were saying, before. What happened with your... colleague with the dragonpox remedy?"

And of course this was frustrating for him as well, he thought as Angelina resumed her story. But according to the rest of the family, he had been actively suicidal before the Reawakening. Desperately wanting to end everything and embrace nothingness, rejecting life and love and family and friends and the shop...

He couldn't even fathom what that had been like. Running into occasional blank spots in his memory seemed a fairly small price to pay for getting away from that. For him, anyway.

He pushed his morbid thoughts aside and concentrated on Angelina.

**ooo000ooo**

**Author's Note:** Like I said above, hopefully the next (and final) chapter will be posted in less than two weeks. It's all done, just needs a final read-through to get rid of "the and" and such.**  
**


	10. Wizengamot

**Author's Note:** Thanks to twistedm, tree00faery, and vanseedee for beta above and beyond the call of friendship.

Thanks so much for your reviews, Elelith, bookivore, brionyjae, chocolatefanatic, Mandy, Deciesjo, Jackieryans, cutietrp, and silverbirch!

Right, so I was going to just post the last chapter and sort-of-epilogue at the same time, but then remembered the last time I did a double post, two people were rather miffed at me because they read the second post before the first one or... something. Anyway. **Epilogue will be posted on Friday :)**

**March (ctd)**

The shop was doing well, thought Lee as he opened the door and was assaulted by Wheezes' general din and mayhem. He glanced around and spotted George in a middle aisle simultaneously straightening up a shelf, complimenting a small child who had sprouted fairy wings, and chatting with Mrs. Weasley, as the shop buzzed and whirred full-tilt around him.

George also seemed to be doing well. He was fully in control of the shop again, interacting easily with customers and with Verity, Naomi, and the new clerk, and not allowing his occasional memory blanks - or customers' references to Fred - to bother him, as far as anyone could tell.

"Don't you have a Healer's appointment today?" Mrs. Weasley was asking him as Lee approached.

George waved a quick hello to Lee, and checked his watch. "Yeah, in half an hour. Was thinking of cancelling it, though - I've still got to put up Angelina's thing in the display case, and the latest batch of Jumpy Jiggle Jellies isn't coming together all that well."

"George, please," said Mrs. Weasley.

"All right, Mum," he said patiently, gave her a kiss, and hurried to the lab door. "Oi, Ron! Can you watch the Jigglies for me?"

"Can't!" Ron's voice called back. "I'm still cross-eyed from the Eye Sore Sours!"

"Bugger." George turned to Lee. "Lee! Can you watch my Jigglies?"

Lee nodded, bemused. "Sounds a bit naughty, so I'm game. What do I watch for?"

"Anything green is bad, anything that smells like pumpkin tart is good."

Lee nodded. "No problem. What about green pumpkin tart?"

"Green pumpkin tart? Erm... leave. Leave immediately, and cast a containment spell on the lab." George paused, thinking. "On second thought, no, just write it down and see if you can take a picture. Unless... no, never mind. Just leave, and evacuate the building." Another pause. "Best tell the neighbours to clear out too."

Lee gaped as George started to hurry off towards the window display. "George!"

"What?"

"You can't be serious, mate!" he said. George raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Right." Lee gave him a rude gesture and George chuckled. "Prat." Lee and Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look of amused exasperation, and Lee followed George to the window as Mrs. Weasley went to help the delighted little fairy-winged boy find his parents.

"What's this?" asked Lee, as he made his way past a small pile of blue and white boxes with large brains painted on the sides, the words _Edible Intellect!_ emblazoned in silver on top.

"Hello, Lee," said Angelina, peering out from behind the boxes.

"Study aids," said George, arranging the boxes into two precarious towers. "For OWL and NEWT students. You know they always get sold grotty gecko eggs or bat dung, and they're willing to eat the most horrifying things. I brewed up some of Angelina's old Smartie Pants Potions and made them taste good."

"They tasted perfectly fine before!" she protested.

"They tasted like dishwater," said George. "Don't complain about the innovation that's making these sell faster than I can brew them."

"Do they work?" asked Lee.

George paused in the middle of casting a spell to keep the first tower upright. "What? Of course they work! I don't do false advertising!"

Lee shook his head. "No, no of course not - only I thought maybe they might be some sort of joke."

George looked at him askance. "For study aids? Yeah, because kids would naturally find it hilarious to fail their OWLs and NEWTs? Give me some credit. No, they work just fine. Guaranteed to increase your retention or your money back."

"And they're selling well?"

"Started out slow, but it's picked up," said Angelina, finishing off the second tower and casting a spell to keep it from tumbling down.

"People probably thought it was a joke at first."

"Probably," said George. "But their effects speak for themselves, and they taste brilliant. I've got them in chocolate, coconut, and lemon flavour."

Lee smiled slightly.

"What?"

Lee shook his head. "Nothing."

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I said."

George blew out his breath and started to make a bridge of boxes between the first tower and the next.

"Why?" said Lee.

"You've got that 'I've just remembered something about Fred and I think it'll be awkward look' about you," George replied curtly.

Angelina dropped a small figure bearing a marked resemblance to a Hogwarts professor and cursed under her breath, and Lee took a beat to compose himself. "Erm, yeah, you're right." He shrugged. "Nothing huge. Only Fred hated coconut. You never had anything coconut flavoured in your products."

George grimaced. "That's it?"

"Erm, sorry... be right back," Angelina mumbled. "Forgot the bag of student figures."

George shook his head, annoyed, as she left. "This really gets on my nerves, Jordan," he said.

Lee swallowed. "I... I know. I'm sorry. None of us means to do it. It just happens."

"Yeah."

"It's not easy for us, yeah? We're doing our best."

"Yeah, and it's dead easy for me," said George sarcastically. He finished positioning the bridge, and carefully placed a professor doll on it, waving his wand to animate it.

"Look, it's easier than it was," said Lee. "Trust me on that one."

"George?" said Ginny, walking into the window display. "Aren't you done with that yet? Mum says you have a Healer's appointment."

"Help us put the professors and students on the display and I'll be off," he said.

"This is bollocks, you know," she said. "It's my weekend off and what am I doing? Pressed into my brother's shop for indentured servitude."

"Go help Angelina find the student doll bag," said George, picking up a doll with an uncanny similarity to McGonagall and placing it on the bridge. "It's somewhere in the lab, I think."

Lee smiled as Ginny gave George a good-natured eye roll and walked off. Ginny had been distinctly uncomfortable with George since the treatment; it was nice that she seemed to be trying, at least.

"You know, this McGonagall doll is very realistic," said Lee, placing another figure. "Are the dolls for sale?"

"No, they're just for show," said George. He placed another professor doll, and Lee thought he recognized the walrus-mustached professor who had taken over Potions after they'd both left Hogwarts. "Is it really easier?" he asked.

"What?"

"Easier than dealing with this type of thing, for you lot? Angelina doing a disappearing act, you getting all uncomfortable, just because I made a bloody coconut-flavoured potion?"

Lee sighed and placed mini-Sprout on the bridge. "Yeah. It is." They placed a few more figures on the bridge, and then George placed one onto one of the stacks, animating it to make it look like it was climbing.

"So you're glad I did it?"

Lee made himself nod. He was. Really. If this was what George had needed to do, it was worth it.

And all right, maybe 'glad' wasn't the right word, but it wasn't worth getting bogged down in semantics.

"Would Fred have agreed?" George asked.

"I don't know," said Lee uncomfortably. "I mean... on the one hand, he believed in not taking the easy way out." He placed a doll on the other tower. "But he also wasn't terribly sentimental, so he might've said Go for it, mate, if it saves your life." He paused. "Especially since you _didn't_ take the easy way out. You really went through hell, for so long... you tried so fucking hard to cope, and it just wasn't going to happen."

"D'you ever wish I hadn't?" asked George, carefully positioning a diminutive Professor Flitwick.

Lee took a deep breath. "George. You'd be dead. Or nearly dead. And I got tired of seeing you that way, mate." He shook his head. "It hurt like hell. We all wanted to take the pain for you, so badly. It was like a punch in the gut, every single time." He animated another doll. "You did the right thing. If it hurt _me_ that much just to see it, imagine what it was like for your parents. Your brothers, your sister. Yourself."

"I keep thinking it was pretty selfish of me," said George. "Feels like it's hurt everybody."

"Better than losing you," said Lee firmly. "And there's no point second-guessing it, either. The important thing is that you made your choice. We all have to respect that. Including you."

George nodded thoughtfully, looking up as Ginny and Angelina came back.

"And I think Fred would've said it wasn't worth it," Lee finished. "Hanging on to his memory if it was going to kill you."

"Though he might have said life is only worth living on your own terms," Ginny said, her voice tight as she knelt down to start placing smaller figures on the bridge. Lee glared at her. Amazing how, among all the Weasleys, only their dad and Bill seemed to grasp the concept of ever knowing when to keep their opinions to themselves.

"I'll never know, will I?" George said slowly.

"I think the point is that you needed to make up your own mind," said Lee.

"What was my own mind, though? I can't even imagine making the decision, and supposedly I'm the one who did it." He shook his head, annoyed.

Lee reflected that it was funny – but not really – how he didn't like introspection any more than old George and Fred did. Though he was at least a bit better at it.

"I think that's done it," said George, placing the last student and waving a wand to animate the entire display.

"I really think people are going to want to buy the professors, too," said Lee, watching the professors chase the students over the bridge and up and down the towers, waving long scrolls at them. "Especially McGonagall. Think we can make her animate little desks?"

George grinned. "That'd be brilliant. She might not think so, though. Maybe next year, when Ginny's not in school any more."

"Have to hit the market, you know," said Lee. "Everyone still remembers her doing that. They might not, next year."

"Luna! Hello!" Ginny called out, and Lee turned to see Luna Lovegood standing at the entrance to the shop.

George turned and smiled. "Luna!" he said, standing up, and Luna flinched. He started to approach her, but stopped as she put up a hand and backed away.

"No. You're really not the George I knew before," said Luna. She turned on her heel, but Ginny reached out to stop her.

"Luna?" said George, cautiously coming closer to her. "What's wrong?"

"You don't remember," said Luna, a hard expression in her normally dreamy eyes.

"I remember," said George slowly, frowning. "I remember being with you. I don't remember where, though."

"I'd always thought you weren't that interested in girls," she said, and now Lee was completely lost, and if Ginny and Angelina's expressions were any indication, so were they. "Not as much as Fred was."

George looked away. "I wouldn't know."

"You're not who I knew in school."

"You're not much like how I remember you either," said George.

"And you're nothing like the George I fucked."

Ginny's eyes grew round and Lee felt his jaw drop.

"And you're nothing like the Luna I knew before the war," said Angelina, stepping forward. "Look, I don't know what happened between you two, but George doesn't deserve this from you. You know what happened at St. Mungo's. Why can't you accept George as he is now?"

Luna gave her a scornful look and stalked out the door. And after a moment, Ginny followed her.

**ooo000ooo**

Arthur walked into the bedroom and found Molly crying on their bed, again. He sighed and went to her, hugging her close.

"What is it, love?" he said gently.

Molly shook her head. "Nothing," she said, sobbing into his chest.

"Come on now. How can I help if I don't know what's wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong. George was here earlier. With Lee. They're doing so well. I think...I think that maybe... never mind."

"You think something about George and Lee?"

"Never mind, it's not important." Molly wiped her eyes.

"Is this because of George's birthday coming up?" asked Arthur.

"That's part of it."

"He's doing so much better, though."

"He is, I know." She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. "He really is."

Arthur hesitated. "Have you noticed that he's not as bothered by mentions of Fred as he was?"

Molly nodded.

"It's good, I think," he said. "That he's accepting this."

"I know."

"I was thinking, I think we should also do something in honour of Fred. At the birthday party."

Molly blanched, and Arthur felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry, Molly, I'm sorry. I only thought..." He trailed off. Nobody talked about Fred any more. It was far too painful. Before, when George could remember, they could at least talk about Fred when he wasn't there. They could at least take comfort in knowing that in many ways, Fred still lived on, in George - though of course none of them had realized how literal that was. Now...

"Nobody will want that," said Molly. "They all avoid any mention of Fred, if they can."

Arthur nodded. "I know, love. It's probably for the best, though."

"Fred deserves better from us," said Molly, her voice hollow. "It wasn't his fault, that what happened with his magic and George's-"

"It wasn't his fault. None of it was. It wasn't his fault he was next to that wall either. And it wasn't Percy's fault he told that joke, and it wasn't our fault that we asked George to come home, and it wasn't George's fault that he didn't understand what was going on and couldn't make us let him stay at Hogwarts." Arthur caught his breath. "It's nobody's fault, Molly. It just happened. We have to deal with what happened, and if letting go of Fred's memory is the only way to do that... I know Fred would be the first to say that's what we should do too."

Molly shivered.

"Molly, please. I know Ginny's still angry at George for choosing this, and it's not what any of us expected, but I think George knew that Fred wouldn't have wanted him to die just to keep his memory alive."

Molly shook her head.

"We just have to make the best of this," Arthur continued doggedly. "Make the best of what we have, and treasure George because he's still with us. He may not be the same as before, but at least he's alive."

Molly nodded.

"And Fred would've agreed. I know he would have."

"That's what I told George. I don't know if he believed me."

"Obviously he did, since he chose to do this."

Molly raised her head and met Arthur's eyes, and he nearly flinched at the anguish within them.

"Molly? What is it?"

"He didn't."

"He didn't what?"

"He didn't choose. He didn't change his mind."

"What?"

"I... I went to speak to him. I wasn't going to - I was going to say goodbye," she said, her voice breaking, and Arthur's heart gave a stab.

"What happened?"

"He didn't move. He didn't respond at all. I looked down at him, and he - he wasn't George any more. He wasn't, he had supposedly made a choice to not go through the treatment, but he was so exhausted and... and broken, and he couldn't make the right choice any more."

Arthur's throat was dry. "What did you do?"

"I... decided for him."

"What? How?" God, none of this made sense, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to slow everything down, make it all make sense, make it all fit. "How - he said, he said he'd changed his mind, and-"

"He didn't."

"What do you mean?" said Arthur, a sense of horror growing in his chest. "Molly, what did you do to him?"

"I told him he was going to wake up and tell the Healer that he'd changed his mind. That he was going to go ahead with the treatment. The Reawakening. I thought of putting him through the Sundering without losing his memory, but you heard Lethe; she had said it might kill him, and I couldn't face making him go through torture for nothing, and..." she gave a sob, and looked down at her trembling hands.

"How could you?" Arthur whispered, his mind reeling.

Molly looked up at him defiantly, her brown eyes red from weeping. "I lost one son already! I was not going to lose another!"

"That wasn't your decision to make!" Arthur said. "And you - _we_ - still lost George! You saved a son who doesn't remember his own twin - and that's not George! Fred was as much a part of George as - as his hair and his freckles!"

"He's alive, isn't he?"

"Not the way he would've wanted to be," said Arthur.

Molly glared at him. "You think I should've let him die, then? Were you ready to bury another son, less than a year after the first?"

Arthur closed his eyes in pain, then opened them and reached out for Molly. "No. No, I wasn't." He stroked her hair, holding her close, his heart beating rapidly. Two months, he thought numbly. Two months of telling himself George's choice had been for the best, trying to convince himself losing Fred for good was worth it, if it kept George with them. "None of us could've coped with that. But this... this hurts too, Molly. Watching George be a living reminder that Fred is more gone than he ever was before. And in some ways it's worse that George can't understand why."

Molly drew in on herself.

"Molly." Arthur took a deep breath. "We have to tell George."

Molly pulled back. "What? No!"

"Molly."

"What possible use could there be in telling him now?"

"The Healer said that going through the ritual had to be his choice. She said it wouldn't work without his cooperation."

"That was the Sundering, not the Reawakening," said Molly. "And he's all right now. The Healer said so."

"We have to ask. We have to be sure," Arthur insisted. He reached out and took her hand in his. "Besides, the George we knew would've wanted to know," he said. "And the George he is now deserves to know as well."

**ooo000ooo**

"George?" Lee leaned out of the flat's window and craned his neck to look up on the roof. "Are you up there?"

"Yeah."

Lee climbed out the window and onto the ledge and then pulled himself up to the roof. George sat, staring out onto the rooftops of Diagon Alley. Odd; Lee used to find Fred up here all the time, but George only ever came up if Fred was here too.

"How are you doing?" asked Lee, sitting down next to him.

"All right."

"Ready for the big day tomorrow?"

George nodded absently.

"What's wrong?" Lee asked. It was odd, thinking about George's birthday. He knew George had thought of not doing anything, before. They'd all wondered how he'd get through it; the date had loomed in the future like a huge squatting baleful stone idol. Now, though... it would still be weird, and painful, but so, so different from what they had all envisioned.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. No. I'm thinking about my Mum."

"What about her?"

"She's under arrest."

"_What?_"

"At the Ministry."

Lee sat down next to him, stunned. "Are you joking?"

"No."

"What's she under arrest for?"

"Casting an Unforgivable." He swallowed hard. "On me."

**April**

"I am not going to testify against my own mother," said George.

Percy sighed. "You can't refuse to testify, George."

"They can't make me-"

"Actually, they can," Hermione said heavily. "And that's not the worst of it. You will be given Veritaserum before your testimony."

"What?"

"It's a new measure, passed for the Death Eater trials," said Lee. "The accused and all of the witnesses are under Veritaserum."

"Kingsley didn't want it," said Hermione. "And he's trying to get it removed, but it's going slowly. It's been removed for most trials, but-"

"My mother is not a Death Eater," George said angrily.

"She committed an Unforgivable, George," said Percy. "All trials having to do with Unforgivables are done under Veritaserum now."

God, what a complete fucking mess, thought Lee as he watched George's face go through a myriad of emotions. None of them had looked forward to April Fool's this year, but they'd had no idea it would be like this, with Wheezes unceremoniously closed until further notice, and the entire family gathered at Grimmauld Place to discuss Molly Weasley's trial and hide from the media frenzy. The Prophet and the Wireless were having a field day.

_Another Hero Tarnished? Bellatrix Lestrange's Killer Used Unforgivable on Son!_

If Lee could ever get his hands on the sanctimonious mediwizard who had leaked the story to the Prophet, or the journalist who had written it or the editor who had approved it, he would make them all pay. The only upside to this entire clusterfuck was that, what with the story going to print today, a sizable proportion of the wizarding population thought it was merely a remarkably tasteless joke. According to Lee's sources, the indignant Owls had been arriving in droves at The Prophet headquarters for hours now, and the birdshit was piling high. Poetic justice, that.

"This is insane," said Charlie. "George didn't want her arrested, and he doesn't want her punished. How can they do this when her 'victim' doesn't want them to?"

"She used an Unforgivable," said Ginny, her voice hard. "And she nearly - nearly killed Fred, is what she did."

"Fred has been dead for almost a year," said Charlie harshly.

"I won't testify against her," said George. "They can't make me."

"They can," said Lee. "And not just about what she did. They'll want to know what you think about what she did."

George's eyes widened. "No!"

"What do you think, George?" asked Hermione.

"How the hell should I know?" he said. He stood up, nervous energy humming through him, and started to pace. "I feel like everything's fine, but then I look at the people around me and you all know something I don't and part of me feels like I'm missing something, all the time. And I've got a twin I don't remember. How am I supposed to feel?"

"Are you angry at your mum?"

"Angry at her?" said George. "She put me under Imperius and made me do something that the rest of you are positive I would never have done on my own. How could I not be angry at her? It's still none of the Wizengamot's business!"

"She saved your life, George!" said Charlie.

"Apparently, I didn't want her to," George shot back.

"I'm not agreeing with what she did. Nobody does. But you're alive, for God's sake! We'd already lost Fred, _she'd_ already lost him, and we couldn't have dealt with losing you, too. Especially when there was a way to save you."

"But I-"

"You have no idea how bad it was!" Lee said. "You were hurting so badly, you didn't know what to do, and then on top of that, you had this magical problem and it was driving you insane, and you weren't getting any better - you were getting worse."

"George, we lost Fred in an instant," said Bill. "In the middle of a war. And we were losing you bit by bit, when the war was supposed to be over. He died with a smile on his face, laughing at a joke - you were dying bit by bit, in pain, and there was nothing funny about it. Fuck, George - in Mum's place, what would you have done?"

George shook his head. "How am I supposed to answer that?" He looked around at them. "And if everybody's so eager for me to forgive Mum, why weren't the rest of you in on it? Why didn't the rest of you think of casting Imperio yourselves?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Well, now you know," said Ginny. "Are you going to do anything about it?"

"About what?" asked Ron.

"Undoing the Reawakening."

Ron blinked. "What? The Healer said the Reawakening was permanent. She said she wouldn't do anything, wouldn't let him change back."

"She said she wouldn't because it was his choice to make," said Ginny. "Only it _wasn't_ his choice. She'll do it now, if he really wants to. It would have to be done very soon, before the person he is now is too firmly entrenched, but she will do it."

"How do you know?" asked Ron.

"I asked her," said Ginny defiantly. "She said what Mum did changed everything."

"And then he'd still have to go through the Sundering ritual?"

Ginny hesitated. "Yes."

"Would it be any less dangerous?" asked George.

Ginny pressed her lips together briefly. "A bit. You're stronger now." She cleared her throat. "But not by much."

"Would you want to?" asked Lee.

Angelina gave him a look. "Would he want to? What kind of question is that? The George Weasley I know would-"

"The George Weasley you knew apparently died about the same time as the Fred Weasley you knew," George said grimly.

Angelina looked for a moment she like she very much wanted to either stalk out of the room or slap George across the face - and then she bit her lip. "You know what? You're right. I'm sorry." She dropped her gaze. "I'm sorry."

George stared at her, then suddenly got up and left the room. Lee scrambled to follow him, waving the rest of them back to their seats. This might be one of those moments when a sibling's opinion might interfere too much.

"I don't know," said George, as Lee caught up to him.

"Whether to try to go back, you mean?"

George nodded.

"You think you might, though?"

George spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know, Lee. Lethe said it would be dangerous. So dangerous that she said she would never agree to it, when she thought the Reawakening was my choice. Now all of a sudden, she might be willing to do it, just because my mother put me under Imperius?"

Lee nodded. "Why would you want to?"

George sighed. "I'm not who I was. I don't know who I am. I think I know, but then I let Percy make a stupid comment without teasing him about it, or wear blue, or assume I'm going to play Chaser instead of Beater - and all of a sudden I'm not sure again. Like who I think I am doesn't exist for anybody but me."

Lee rubbed a hand through his hair. "You want to, then? Despite the risk?"

"I think maybe I should."

"Why? Who do you owe it to?"

"The person I was. The twin I don't remember."

"They're both gone," said Lee flatly. "And it's your life we're talking about now, not theirs."

**ooo000ooo**

"What do you think of your mother's actions?" asked Wizengamot member Ellen McNair.

George took a quick breath and tried to keep in mind what Ron and Harry had taught him in his crash course on evading Veritaserum. "She did what she thought was right. I wouldn't be here to speak for her if she hadn't."

"But do you think she was right to do what she did?"

"She did what she thought was right," George repeated firmly.

"That's not good enough," McNair shot back. "She put you under Imperius."

"She was trying to save my life."

"Do you wish she hadn't?"

"Yes." George bit his lip, his gaze meeting Mum's in the defendant's chair as a murmur ran through the Wizengamot. "I understand why she did it, though. I probably wouldn't be alive if she hadn't."

Ellen McNair nodded dismissively. "Yes, yes, we heard that from Healer Lethe as well. Thank you."

"Are we done questioning Mr. Weasley, then?" asked Kingsley. There was a murmur of assent from the Wizengamot. "Then it is time to hear from Molly Weasley," he said, and gave her an encouraging look. Not more than that - certainly not a smile. It had been difficult enough to persuade the Wizengamot to allow him to chair the meeting, as the Minister for Magic was supposed to, considering his friendship with the accused.

Mum sat up a bit straighter in the accused's chair, looking only at Kingsley.

"Tell us what led you to perform the Unforgivable, please, Mrs. Weasley," said Tamara Nott, a stern-looking older witch whose had spent the bulk of the hearing so far frowning at McNair, and occasionally objecting to her scathing remarks.

It wasn't necessary for Mum to say very much; the facts had been gathered from Healers Radstone, Adams, and Lethe, from Dad, and from George and all of his siblings. All that remained was for Mum to tell what she had felt upon being told that George had chosen to reject all treatment, and what had led her to cast the Unforgivable. The Wizengamot was almost silent as she gave her story.

George glanced around at the packed gallery listening to his mother speak - the press with their QuickNotes Quills scribbling away, a contingent of families of Death Eaters sitting grim-faced and self-righteous, members of the Order, and an assortment of other wizards and witches eager to gawk at the spectacle. He spotted Andromeda, sitting with Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, and gave her a small smile.

"I lost both of my brothers in the first war," Mum said quietly, ending her testimony. "And a son in the second. My son was in pain, and I could help him. I couldn't do anything to save Gideon or Fabian or Fred, but I could not let another child of mine die."

"He wasn't a child," said McNair. "And it was his decision to make."

"He wasn't competent to make the decision."

"He was, according to Healer Lethe," McNair retorted. "And your own husband and children, _all of them_, believe he should have been allowed to decide for himself."

Mum took a shaking breath. "I know. And maybe they're right. All I know is that I could not let him die. Not like that, in pain and alone. Not when I could save him."

"Do you think you deserve to go to Azkaban?" asked Nott.

Mum sighed. "I killed Bellatrix Lestrange to save my daughter, and I used an Unforgivable to save my son," she said softly. "I had a good reason for both, but I will accept the decision of the Wizengamot."

There was a rustle from the crowd.

"Are we ready to vote?" asked Kingsley, glancing at McNair and Nott.

Ellen McNair stood up. "Minister, I would like to say a few words before we do so." Kingsley nodded, and McNair took a moment to gather herself. "I understand that some of you may be feeling sympathy for this woman before you. She is a war hero, after all, from a family of heroes, and she lost a son in the war. Her children have made impassioned pleas, urging leniency in her case. But we must not forget what she is accused of doing." She looked around at the full Wizengamot. "She is accused of using an _Unforgivable_. Not in the heat of battle, not in a rash moment heartily repented of later. She cast Imperius on her own son, and forced him to undergo a horribly painful process that he had explicitly rejected. Molly Weasley is no better than any Death Eater. She took her own son's free will away from him, stole his memories. Stole his very identity from him." She looked around at the gallery again. "How can we possibly condone that? And what does it say about us if we allow a crime like that to go unpunished, simply because the criminal is not a Death Eater?"

She sat down, to a murmur from the crowd.

George clenched his fists, itching to stand up and address the Wizengamot himself. Because the one thing he'd decided between his mother's arrest and this trial was that the point wasn't her use of an Unforgivable, or whether or not she'd stolen his free will. Using an Unforgivable to save another person's life wasn't a crime, as far as George was concerned. The point was whether or not it was acceptable for her to have essentially erased Fred, a man who George didn't even know, but who hadn't deserved to be consigned to oblivion. And, all issues of wizarding politics aside, that wasn't any of the Wizengamot's business.

Tamara Nott stood up. "Minister, if I may?" Kingsley nodded. "I... honestly don't know what to say here. My friend's speech has left me speechless." She shook her head. "How can you possibly compare Molly Weasley to Death Eaters? She didn't do what she did out of maliciousness, or to amuse herself! She did it because her son was dying and she couldn't sit just there and watch him!"

"The result is the same," said McNair. "She stole his free will."

"And you are stealing my opportunity to speak, Mrs. McNair," said Nott.

"Mrs. McNair," said Kingsley. "Please sit."

Nott nodded at him in thanks. "I don't think anybody truly understands what Molly Weasley went through. This is a woman who brought seven children into the world, and raised them, through her own example, to be members of our society that anybody would be proud of. Of the five children who finished Hogwarts before the war, _all_ were successful, no matter which profession they chose. Of the five sons who reached adulthood before the war, four were members of the Order of the Phoenix. Her youngest son helped Harry Potter vanquish You-Know-Who. Her daughter helped to lead Dumbledore's Army during Severus Snape's Headmastership. And every single one of her children fought in the Battle at Hogwarts. Every. Single. One."

Nott paused. "I understand that we find ourselves in a difficult political situation. We want to show impartiality, and show that we prosecute everyone who uses an Unforgivable in the same way. Harry Potter himself was censured for what he did. But this wasn't done in the heat of anger, and it wasn't done with malice. Molly Weasley, and her family, have lost enough. Enough! Do not sacrifice a grieving mother, who only wanted to save the life of her child, for... impartiality. For abstract principle, or political expediency. She lost three members of her own family fighting against You-Know-Who for us. She got rid of Bellatrix Lestrange for us. She gave us seven heroes. She has given us enough. Now she and her family need us to give her something back: compassion, and forgiveness. Do not let her down."

**ooo000ooo**

"God, what is taking them so bloody long?" said George, as Kingsley came into the small waiting room.

Kingsley glanced around at George's family and friends. He cleared his throat. "They're almost done. They've asked me to talk to you first though."

"What for?" asked George.

"Have you decided whether or not you're undoing the Reawakening spell?"

George frowned. "What? Of course not. I only found out I could a few days ago."

"Do you think you will?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Why are you asking?"

"The Wizengamot has decided. If you don't undo the spell, it will be taken as proof that your will was not truly compromised, and your mother will only be given a year's probation. If you choose to undo it, she goes to Azkaban."

George's mouth dropped open. "What? That's insane!"

"I know."

"How long?" asked Percy.

"One year. And she will not be allowed to use magic afterwards."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"That's ridiculous," said Andromeda. "They can't do that."

"Ellen McNair has many allies." Kingsley looked around at George's horrified friends and family. "You've all seen how all of this has played out in the papers: the people who were sympathetic to Death Eaters have taken this case up as their cause, to exact vengeance for the treatment given to the Death Eaters after the war, and to compensate for the fact that Harry wasn't more severely punished for using two Unforgivables. And they have swayed a great many people to their side, pressuring them into believing that this is a necessary concession, if we're to continue to move forward."

"I told you, Kingsley, you should have let me speak for her too," said Andromeda angrily. "Even Narcissa and Draco were willing-""

"That wouldn't have done any good," Kingsley interrupted. "The Death Eater sympathizers would've dismissed the Malfoys because they cooperated with our side after the war, and the others because they were in Voldemort's camp during the war. We've been over this."

"My Mum doesn't deserve this," said George.

"We will fight it," said Hermione.

Kingsley gave Hermione a brisk nod. "I know you will. And I will do all I can to help you, and hopefully we will get the sentence overturned or at least lessened. But it may take time. In the meantime, though, George has to decide, now. The Healers won't do it at all in a week or so."

George shook his head, heartsick.

"You know," said Ginny slowly, "even if you do undo the Reawakening, it may not work. Your chances of survival are almost the same as they were before, when you said no to the Sundering. You rejected it for a reason."

George stared at her. "You're talking to me, now?"

Ginny bit her lip. "I was wrong. I was angry, and I was wrong. And I'm still angry at Mum, but..." She cleared her throat. "I love you. I love Mum too. Hermione thinks maybe I wanted you to decide to do the Reawakening, but didn't want to admit that to myself. So I took it out on you." She shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"You still need to decide what to do, George," said Kingsley.

"Mum did what she did to protect me," said George. "She's already suffered for it enough."

"Can you live with not knowing who you were?" said Ginny.

"Who I was is gone. This is me now."

"Is that good enough for you?"

"I don't know." George looked down at his wand, absently making sparks with it and watching them pop softly. "What would the George I was before have done?"

"I think he would have undone the Reawakening," said Ginny.

"So do I," said Ron. "But you're not him."

"What would Fred have said?"

"I think he would have told you to get on with your life and not risk it again just for the sake of his memory," said Lee. "But I honestly don't know. None of us knew him as well as you did."

"And I don't know him at all any more," said George. He'd come to learn about Fred, had seen pictures of him, had heard stories about him, but it wasn't the same as knowing him. Not at all.

And the point wasn't what Fred would have wanted. Or what he himself would have wanted, before the Reawakening. The point was what he thought now; whether he thought it was all right to live the rest of his life free of sorrow but with an enormous part of himself missing, or whether he was willing to risk his own life again. Not just for the memories of Fred, or for whatever effect Fred had had on the person George had been, but for Fred's sake as well. He had evidently thought losing Fred wasn't worth saving his own life before, when he'd rejected the option, but he had been sick with grief and exhausted at the time, and...

And if he went for the Sundering now, supposedly he would remember this life, remember what it had been like to not ache for what would be forever missing. Would that help? Would it be worth it?

George looked at Kingsley. "I want to see my mother. Is that allowed?"

Kingsley started to shake his head, then paused and exchanged a glance with Andromeda. He set his jaw. "You know, if being bloody Minister for Magic doesn't allow me to decide this one thing, it's not worth the robes that come with it. Come with me." He led George back to the Wizengamot chamber, where Mum still sat in the chair for the accused, awaiting judgment.

George approached her and conjured himself a chair, not bothering to ask permission before doing so. He reached for his mother's hand.

"What should I do, Mum?"

Mum shook her head.

"Mum, I need your help," he said. "You did this to protect me. What should I do now?"


	11. May 1

**Author's Note:** Well, here's the end of the story. Thanks so much to all of you, for all your kind reviews. It's always wonderful to hear from people who are touched by something I've written. Feels like getting a hug over the ether :)

**Epilogue**

**May**

George took a deep breath and pushed the door open, gazing into the empty corridor and mentally thanking Remus Lupin for the map that had allowed him into the castle undisturbed. Though he would bet that McGonagall was perfectly aware that he was here, it was nice to not have to deal with anybody else right now. Tomorrow the school grounds would be full of people, here to mark the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. Tomorrow there would be time to honour the dead in the company of the living, in the company of his remaining family and friends.

Tonight was just for him.

He gazed at the portraits in the hall, searching until he found the familiar features, the red hair and freckles, so similar to what he saw in the mirror every morning. He smiled. There was Fred, juggling, to the admiration of a group of nuns. One of the prettier nuns was smiling at him in a decidedly un-nunlike way.

He observed the painting. The portrait painter had apparently used photographs taken at Wheezes, and it showed: Fred's hair had come out a little too red, probably because of the shop's lighting, but was otherwise just right, including the slight tendency to fall to the left side. The portrait didn't have as many freckles as the real Fred had had. And the clothing was too wrinkle-free and neat, but his fingers were potion-stained. Nice touch.

George let his eyes drop down to the names at the bottom of the portraits, noticing that of course Fred wasn't in his own portrait. Which he could've guessed, since the portrait he was in was dominated by stacks of books.

"No, Fred and libraries did not mix," Hermione had said once, about a week after he'd been told about his brother's existence.

"At _all_," Ron had added. "He wasn't a big reader. Unless it was books about business or Charms."

"Was I?" George had asked, and it had felt so incredibly bizarre to have to ask. His memories felt so real, of spending a great deal of his childhood with books as his closest friends.

All lies.

"No," Hermione had said. "But you did start reading a lot after Fred died. I think you were just trying to get away from everybody who was crowding you, or maybe trying to get into things that wouldn't remind you of Fred, but... well, apparently you're a bookworm. Without, erm, Fred, that is."

Ron frowned. "Though we did find some books in Fred's room. Runes. In Norse. Weird."

Lee had shaken his head. "He did read," he'd said. "Just not that often, unless it was business-related."

They hadn't really known what to say about Fred. None of them had. Didn't know whether to point out to George the differences or similarities between himself and Fred, the differences between the person he'd been before the Reawakening spell, and after... it had all been so bloody confusing for all of them.

George watched Fred glance down at a book and then push it out of the way. The bookish little nun flirting with him looked slightly put out for a moment, but brightened as he smiled at her again.

George swallowed as he finally spotted the portrait where Fred was supposed to be, with a cauldron boiling away and sending up sparkles, and multicoloured bats winging past.

_Fred Weasley, __April 1, 1978__ – May 2, 1998_

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"Hello, Fred," said George, and portrait-Fred turned around, a grin on his face. His eyes widened.

"George?" he said slowly. George closed his eyes in brief pain. His hair may have been a shade too red, and his skin tone too smooth, but the voice George hadn't heard in a year was the same. Same as in the Pensieve memories, in his dreams, in his nightmares... but not the same as his own voice. Not any more.

"How long has it been?" Fred asked, looking confused.

Portraits never had a good sense of time. "A year," said George. "Almost."

Fred's eyes widened again at the rough tone of George's voice. George could see him biting his lip to not ask why George looked and sounded the way he did.

"Why didn't you visit before? The paintings were finished two months ago, I think."

George shook his head. "I couldn't. You know it's not advisable for people to see their relative's portraits before a year's gone by."

Fred's eyebrows went up. "Since when do we ever do what's advisable?"

"Since you died," said George.

Fred frowned. "Why do you look so different?"

George sighed. He did. He knew it. His hair was sandy red now, what with all the white in it, and with the weight he'd lost and the lines of exhaustion and pain on his face, his eyes looked old.

He didn't look much like the boy in the portrait.

"And what happened to your voice?" Fred said, apparently deciding tact wasn't worth it. Typical.

"Damaged. Doesn't matter."

Fred scowled. "Doesn't matter? Don't give me that shit. I'm your twin."

George ran a hand through his hair. "It's been... a difficult year," he said.

Fred slowly sat down, and waved a hand at him. "Tell me."

"What have other people told you?" asked George, realizing he was stalling. "I know Ginny and Hermione have been here. And Mum, too."

"Nothing," said Fred. "They just said you'd come talk to me when you were ready."

And Fred hadn't pestered them. This wasn't Fred. This was a portrait imbued with some of his personality, that was all. Portraits were probably charmed to not ask difficult questions.

"Was it really that bad?" asked Fred quietly.

"What did you expect?" George shook his head. "Yeah, it was bad. Really bad."

"We'd talked about it, though," Fred said. "We'd talked about what if one of us-"

"We were kids," said George grimly. "And we didn't know what we were talking about."

"But how... I mean, what..."

"It was hell. Worse than hell." George took a deep breath, conjured a chair, and sat down. He fiddled with his wand for a moment. "I don't even know where to begin."

"You don't know what to say... to me?" Fred said, astonished.

George hesitated again. "You know..." he tilted his head to the side. Something was wrong. "You don't look quite _right_ over here. It's not just the hair colour, it's... I know they used photographs, but didn't we have anything more recent that-"

"They did. They did a good job, at first. Only..."

"What?"

"Well... you know... it's not the same without you," he said uncomfortably.

George chuckled. "You don't say."

Fred cleared his throat. "They've had to retouch me a few times. I keep... erm, fading," he said, sounding embarrassed.

George closed his eyes. Of course. "You need me there," he said. "I'll tell them to add me in."

"But you're still alive."

George smiled bitterly. "Yeah. I noticed. I don't mind, though. I think maybe..."

"We weren't meant to be separated," they both finished, and George's breath caught in his throat.

"I can't come see you, though," said George once he could trust his voice again. "Not after today."

"What? Why not?"

"Because this isn't real. It's great, seeing you, and talking to you, but you're not really Fred and you can't really finish my sentences and... and I'm not who you knew."

"What do you mean?"

George took a deep breath, and began.

It was strange, telling the tale to his brother, portrait or no. Watching Fred's eyes widen and his eyebrows go up and his mouth fall open as George told him. Told him about the accident at Hogwarts that made Mum call him home. Told him about the days at home, the magic that didn't work, the time he'd spent looking for answers. Going back to the shop, and the depression that rose and rose and rose and had him testing potions and charms on the off-chance that he might test something deadly.

It was almost like a story, to him. Like it had happened to another person. But watching Fred react, it was like feeling it all, living it.

"I don't know why I opened up to Lee, to be honest. Maybe he was just stubborn enough-"

George looked up at a sound from the portrait. Fred's head was down, his face was hidden by his hair, and George's forehead creased. "Fred?"

Fred shook his head quickly, then took a few deep, shaking breaths. Finally he looked up, his eyes glistening. "I'm... I'm sorry," he whispered. "Merlin, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I wish... I wish I'd been there. Somehow. I wish I'd been there to help."

George's mouth twitched. "There wouldn't have been much to help with, would there?" he said.

"I suppose not." Fred took a breath. "Were things better, then, after the hospital?"

George shook his head, not knowing how to explain.

"What happened?"

George looked down and forced himself to recount it. The days in the hospital. The potions, the psychiatrist, finally giving up and going back home, feeling not much better than before.

The despair, the desperation, the pull to end everything, the plans he'd made after Christmas. And it wasn't happening to someone else any more; it was happening right now.

"And then Ron found me, in the lab. I was unconscious, stopped breathing, and his timing was incredible. If he'd been just a few minutes later..."

This wasn't Fred, he reminded himself as the portrait bowed his head, his painted shoulders trembling as he started to weep. It wasn't. This was a recording of Fred. But it looked and talked and cried like Fred. Fred when they were both so much younger, Fred with all of his joy and bravado and suddenly carelessly torn away like a flimsy veil. And George felt so protective of him, of the _kid_ he'd been, feeling devastated and guilty that he hadn't stayed behind.

"I wish..." Fred said brokenly. "I wish I'd stayed-"

"No, you don't," said George. "That wouldn't have been any better."

"I-"

"I don't wish you had, Fred," he said gently. "Not any more, not really. You went on because you had to. It was the right thing to do. If there is an afterlife, I'll meet you there. We'll trade stories. If there isn't... then it's still the right thing to do, to go ahead to... nothingness rather than linger on as a ghost, something that isn't really real. I wouldn't have wanted that for you."

Fred was sobbing now, arms clasped around his knees, whispering, "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." and George had to remind himself, this wasn't Fred. It _wasn't._

He came closer to the portrait, knowing that it wasn't his brother. But it was as close as he'd ever come to him again.

He couldn't tell Fred the rest of the story, George realized. He didn't have the heart to tell him about Mum, or Healer Lethe, or Mum's trial. Real or not, this Fred had nothing to do with any of that.

Besides, it wasn't really that relevant. The magic problem had only been a part of the trouble. Had George been a Muggle, the grief and the loss and the sense of incompleteness would have all felt the same, except that he would not have had the experience of knowing what it was like to _not _miss Fred.

He wouldn't have known that this was better, despite the pain that would never go away. And Fred wouldn't understand. Fred couldn't understand.

"Fred," he said quietly, after Fred's weeping had died down to soft shuddering breaths. "You and me... what we had, most people only dream of. Somebody who always understands you, somebody who will always get your jokes, who'll always be there for you. Somebody who's the other half of you." Fred drew in a shaking breath and raised his head. "And I'll never get over missing you, I'll never be the same, but I... I'm grateful I got that, got you, for twenty years. It was a bloody brilliant way to grow up." He wiped his own cheek. "I only wish it could've been longer."

George could see Fred's image mulling this over. Fred chuckled, a shaky sound. "You know, it's funny how after all of this, you're still one of the only wizard atheists I've met. You know people who've literally talked to the dead, and you still don't believe?"

"I'm talking to the dead right now, Fred," George pointed out. "It doesn't prove your soul is still out there; it just proves that somebody could do a decent bit of magic. Same with ghosts. They're no proof of anything."

"And it doesn't bother you?"

"If there's nothing but an end, then I've still got my memories of you. And I've still got my life to live. And when I'm gone, hopefully I'll be remembered too."

"You'll be remembered before then, if you're a magical portrait before you've even kicked it," said Fred, giving him a small smile, though his chest still shuddered.

George smiled. "I suppose so." He took a deep breath. "I'll make sure they get my portrait in with you soon so you don't keep fading. I won't be coming back here myself, though." He paused. "Nor will Mum, not for a little while anyway."

Fred gazed at him for a long moment. "Will you be all right?"

George spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know, to be honest. I think I will. I've got things to do with my life. People I love, and who love me. Who knows." He thought briefly of his family; of Luna, and Lee, and Angelina. "I think I will."

George came closer to the canvas, and reached towards it. Fred copied him, and their hands touched for the first time in almost a year.

You made me who I am, he wanted to tell Fred. And saying goodbye to you hurts, but I have to, because otherwise I'll never be anything but the 'other twin.' The one who was left behind.

"I love you, Fred," George said softly. "I won't ever forget you."

Fred nodded and wiped his eyes.

"Goodbye," said George. And he dropped his hand, turned, and walked away.

**ooo000oooooo000oooooo000ooo**

**Afterword****:** The title comes from a Linkin Park song. Someone I have never been able to track down made a beautiful "RIP Fred Weasley" fanvid using the song. You can see it here (you'll have to remove spaces, turn "slash," "underscore," "dash" and "dot" into actual dots, underscore, etc)

www dot 4shared dot com slash account slash file slash 47521118 slash 94a4c4f3 slash Leave underscore Out underscore All underscore The underscore Rest underscore dash underscore Fred dot html

If anybody knows who it is, please let me know. I'd love to fangirl the vidder.


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